


New Beginnings

by brimstonegold, virtualpersonal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Consent Issues, First Time, Historical, Humor, Innocent Dean, M/M, Prince Dean, Prince Sam, Rapunzel Elements, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Sexy Times, bodice ripper, fairytale, fairytale AU, sam and dean are not brothers, trouser ripper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-01-16
Packaged: 2018-03-06 17:22:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 57,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3142541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brimstonegold/pseuds/brimstonegold, https://archiveofourown.org/users/virtualpersonal/pseuds/virtualpersonal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prince Sam has until New Years Day to select a bride or one will be selected for him.  The matter would not be so difficult if it weren't for the fact that he has always believed that his 'split-apart', the other half of his soul, is somewhere out there.  He's not wrong, but if the royal wizard has his way, Sam will never find Prince Dean, who has been imprisoned in a tower since the day of his birth 18 years ago</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [](http://s1114.beta.photobucket.com/user/virtualpersonal/media/story%20art/adrianneb782393mediumblues.jpg.html)  
>  Story art by adrianneb78239
> 
> co-written with Brimstonegold
> 
> inspired by Rapunzel and The Butcher's Wife

"Your Highness?! Samuel?!" Storming through the stable, Bobby came upon a bale of hay that had the telltale signs of the Prince's whereabouts. Grabbing the snow white shirt draped over the stack, he gave the hay a kick. "Tell me you have your pants on this time,” he growled, “Sam!"

Groaning, Sam reached up and parted the hay, then climbed. He held his head with one hand, and spit some straw out of his mouth. "I'm going to be sick."

"Good. Put your shirt on." Bobby tossed it at Sam's head.

Plucking it off his head, Sam straightened to his full height and started shrugging it on. Bobby’s cool, unimpressed expression was his hint that he was putting the shirt on backwards. Taking it off, he reversed it, muttering under his breath, “You're a retainer, stop acting above your station."

"You're a Prince, stop acting below your station," Bobby snapped back without missing a beat. "Hurry, there's not much time."

"For what?" Sam let out a burp and waved a hand in front of his face. The smell of old wine was about to make him throw up.

"For what?" Bobby sputtered. "You’re expected to be in the ballroom to meet and greet the Princesses of--"

Giving a genuine groan, Sam started to button up his shirt. "None of them suit. They're all wrong."

"I didn't realize that royal eyes see right through mortar and stone. Idjit. Come on." He grabbed Sam's arm as the Prince made as if to bend down and reach into the hay again. "What are you doing?"

"Monique is still..."

Dragging him along, Bobby gave another heavy sigh. "I'll come back for her. Leave her be, you need to get to your valet if you're to be respectable. At least on the outside..."

* 

The instant the door to Sam's chambers opened, Bobby turned but saw the valet come out alone and close the door. "But... where's the Prince?"

Adam gave Bobby a world weary look. "He said he needs to commune with his muse before he--"

"His muse!" Bobby pushed the door open and marched up to the large bed, pulling its curtains open with gusto. Just as he'd thought, Sam was fully dressed but laying on his back, cradling a silver flask in his hand. ”What do you think you're doing?" He snatched the flask and set it on the table with a decided thump.

"I--"

"You and your muse best get your royal buttocks out there before the King starts yelling for you. Come on--" Bobby tugged on Sam's arm.

"My muse asks whether any of them have green eyes," Sam said quietly.

"Eh?"

"Like polished jade. Do they?" He gave Bobby a sharp look.

"Black onyx, blue lapis, golden brown, and amber eyes, yes. Polished jade, no. But I can go to the wizard and ask him to make you some jade green spectacles... come." He held onto Sam's arm, sniffing him to make sure that he no longer reeked of alcohol. "Please Highness... three hours, just three short hours of princely behavior, it's not much to ask," Bobby begged.

Pulling away, Sam walked ahead, long determined strides taking him down the long hall and then to the spiral stairs that lead to the large foyer outside the ballroom. The entire time, he was trying hard to block out Bobby’s endless requests that he not act like a buffoon or speak nonsense to the guests. 

By the time Sam reached the entrance to the ballroom, he was standing straighter and had Bobby fixing his overcoat down. “Just three hours,” the trusted retainer hissed, pushing Sam inside.

The instant Sam came into view, he was announced to the guests and walked through the parting crowd to join his parents. His father's dark eyes were filled with outrage and his mother's were soft and worried. 

Muttering a formal greeting to them, he pasted a false smile on his face and spoke through gritted teeth. "I feel like a side of bacon on display."

"One that's aged well past its prime," King John responded with an equally false smile. "You have one week."

"This is not the way to select a wife--"

"And had you listened to us when we told you to start looking years ago, these measures would be unnecessary. You will do your duty and select a future queen by New Year’s, or I _will_ l do it for you," the King growled.

"It's not fair. Surely you of all people should understand." Sam's jaw pulsed as his rebellious eyes clashed with his father's.

Queen Mary put her hand on her son's arm. "It isn't fair, no. I wish everyone had a split-apart, I do. But you know as well as I that all split-aparts find each other by the younger one's eighteenth birthday. You're nineteen now, Samuel, and halfway to twenty. Rarely are split-aparts more than a few months apart in age. She would have been eighteen last January. We've given you almost an extra year in honor of your claims, but Son, you must face the truth. There is no split-apart for you."

Sam's heart constricted. No. He knew it in his heart, in his blood, in his soul. They were wrong. He couldn't explain it, but they were wrong. They didn't see his dreams, they didn't know how he needed the other part of his soul. She had to be out there, and she had green eyes, he was sure of it.

Instead of arguing with his mother, he asked, "So how many simpering misses do I have to meet today?"

"None. You complained about simpering misses, now I'll have you meet Princess Herculena..." the king murmured and gave a slight nod to someone.

"Hercu-what?" Sam's eyes widened as a six foot tall woman, broad shouldered and well-muscled enough to pick him up and throw him across the room, approached.

"Son, you did say you were tired of timid princesses, and knew your 'other' is fiery and strong and-- Princess Margaret, welcome..."

Putting his hand out, Sam took her gloved hand, noting it was almost as large as his own even as he brought it to his mouth to kiss. Already, he looked ahead to slipping out of the castle, finding a nice rough tavern, and drinking and carousing the night away. He wanted to be away from this nightmare parade of princesses, if only because it was his hand they were after. 

* * *

Dean sat atop of the north tower, looking up at the stars. Sir Caleb had not been by in over a week, not since the last evil beast had been brought to 'The Protector of the Kingdom,' to be slayed. Dean had dispatched it quickly, as he typically did all of the evil beasts. 

He no longer asked them why it was that they could capture and bring the beasts to him, but only he could kill them. He’d been told often enough that it was not his place to ask ‘absurd’ questions. His birthright assured that the evil was good and truly gone, or so Sir Caleb told him. Dean had no choice but to accept the knight’s word as the truth.

Sir Caleb had re-stocked all of the supplies, so Dean had plenty of food in storage. It would probably be at least another week before another beast was brought to him and he had someone to talk to. 

Glancing down at the unusual blue birthmarks on his wrists, Dean sighed. They identified him as the Protector. They were magical and kept him at his post, kept him from leaving the towers. He could only walk down the tower stairs part way down before an invisible barrier held him back, keeping him from getting to the bottom and going out the door. He’d tested the force many times as a youth, trying to break through it, but to no avail. He could not leave this place. His post. His prison. 

He looked down at the ground below. He’d tried climbing down from the exterior of the towers, but it was the same. The invisible barrier would stop him from getting a few feet beyond the bottom of the balcony of his living quarters. 

Even though the 'fate of the kingdom' rested in his shoulders and his skilled hands, he wanted to step outside of the towers for just once in his life. But seeing as he couldn’t leave, he’d wheedled and begged Sir Caleb to bring back some plants, like he saw outside his window. He did have a few plants now, and he loved to run his fingers through the dirt in the pots and to touch their leaves. 

Sir Caleb had given him a lot. He had paints and manuscripts, blank parchments, wood pieces to carve into and make thing out of, and pieces of leather and rope. He’d made many gadgets to entertain himself with. But tonight, he was alone.

 _Lonely_. Yes, that was the word. He felt like he was missing a part of himself. That a part of himself had been ripped away from him at his birth. He looked to the west. His desire to travel in that direction had grown stronger and stronger through the years. Sometimes he thought he would go mad if he didn't run towards something, to get to what was tugging on him. But he was the Protector, and he had to stay at his post. No matter what. 

Getting up, he walked along the tower turrets and jumped down to his balcony. With a sigh he walked inside and stirred the fire in the large fireplace. The walls around him were adorned with his paintings. A tall man with hazel eyes appeared in many of his paintings. He’d dreamed of the man all the time, even when awake. Sir Caleb had told him the man was merely a figment of his imagination, or an enemy he might one day have to face, or maybe his replacement when some evil beast beat him and he failed in his job.

There were some nights that he was far more restless than other nights. Tonight was one of those nights. He'd already done all his training for the day, sharpened all his weapons, and was at a loss. He’d discovered if he left fruit sit in a sealed pot, he got strong tasting juice from it. Tonight he pulled out a few of those jars and opened his paints. 

"Who are you? What are you?" he asked as he began painting those haunting hazel eyes once again.

* * *

As soon as he could escape the confines of the castle, Samuel stole into the stables and quietly lead his great white stallion, Maximus, out. He took one of the dozens of gates leading from the royal gardens out to the small town surrounding the castle, and then headed for the main gate that would get him beyond the town walls. 

They had been at peace for decades now, thus there was no reason to lock the gate. The guards would either not notice him in his peasant garb, or if they did --Maximus being somewhat obvious-- they'd turn a blind eye. He made sure they were always well supplied with wine and coin, an arrangement he’d entered into ever since he'd been a boy of seven years.

Tonight, he rode hard in the direction his heart. East. It was always to the East. Most times it lead him to nowhere. To taverns where he'd dull the pain of loneliness with too much ale and wine, or fights which gave him something else to think about, or meadows where he slept on the grass looking up at the starry skies, demanding to know where his other half was, and why she had yet to reveal herself to him.

He stopped at several places this eve. First at the Three Pigs, where he drank his fill and danced on top of a table with a wench with hot green eyes. He'd refused her invitation to lay with her. Some nights, or mornings, or afternoons, it helped to slake his lust for the one in his heart by being with someone else. Tonight wasn't such a night. He'd kissed her and given her a few coins, coins he'd fished out of a pouch he'd stolen from a man who was steadily drinking himself into his cups, and then he rode further east.

The King's Crow had been loud and lively. He'd spent a few hours and the rest of the stolen coins, and helped himself to a woman's pet. Of course he wouldn’t keep it, he fully intended to give it back on his ride back home. 

Once he was astride his horse and had time to look at the furry critter, he’d given a shocked shout when he’d found it had no eyes nor limbs, and was motionless. Was he so far into his cups that he hadn’t been able to tell a soft fur stole from a live animal?! 

He'd divested himself of fur at the next tavern, exchanging it for an honest to goodness real faux diamond encrusted dagger. He'd also gotten an eye patch in the bargain, but of the two parties to the bargain, only he was aware that the other man had traded the patch as part of the deal. 

Drunk, and very happy that he’d broken every one of his father’s rules of princely behavior, he hadn't realized how close it was to morning. He'd reached the very edge of the kingdom, to where the lands beyond did not look welcoming. 

Here, the lush rolling landscape was replaced by starker scenery, hills made of flint and twisted dark trees, many barren of leaves. Maximus kept trying to return, but something forced Samuel to go on, to ride to places where there were no people. Just wildlands, animals, and evil beasts. If he'd been thinking straight, he would never have gone without an armed guard, or at the very least, a sword in place of a pauper’s dagger. 

A sliver of light was coming up on the horizon, but other than that, it was still dark. Still, he could see something in the distance. "Probably as real as that animal stole," he muttered disgustedly, knowing it made no sense for there to be a tower in the midst of nowhere. "Come on Maximus, we're dead either way... late is late," he said. There was no way they’d be home before breakfast, so what if he allowed his drunken curiosity to win out? 

The distance to the towers he thought he’d imagined was farther that he’d anticipated. But when he arrived, he slid ungracefully off his horse and looked up at the double towers connected by a bridge. He could see a balcony on one of the towers, but no door. He circled each tower a few times and finding no entrance, made a disgruntled sound. Surely there had to be a way in, had the liquor so addled his mind that he couldn’t find it?

Just as he was about to think about alternatives, he heard a scraping sound. Wooden shutters of a window overhead opened up. He could see some sort of light. The flickering of fire light, that’s what it was. There was also a soft humming or singing, low, like music he'd never heard and it intrigued him. 

Now that he knew someone else had access to the inside, he was more determined than ever to get inside. He started to feel the stones, running his fingers over every crevice, searching for some way to open a secret door, much like the many secret passages he'd explored at his own palace.

Just as his fingers slipped into a crack, Maximus used his head to butt Sam's ass, drawing a loud curse from the prince. "Go, do horse-like things, leave me alone," he muttered, shoving the large horse’s face away and then searching for the crack again. A click sounded, but nothing happened. No door swung open. No shaft opened up. Frustrated, he pressed a few more times, then stepped away, rather angry and vowing that whoever had created this tricky contraption would lose his head.

Only when he stepped back did he see that a change had been wrought. Thick tangled vines had magically appeared around the towers, creeping all the way up to the balcony and windows. 

"Someone just saved his neck." He took a running jump and started to climb, the vines providing great foot and hand holds for him. He was already three-fourths of the way up when it dawned on him that this might be a foolish thing to do. He had no idea who was inside this unknown tower, in unknown lands. Maybe he’d come face to face with an enemy, or one of the evil beasts. And maybe he wasn’t in the right condition, just now, to defend himself. 

As was often the case, the practical side of him was shouted down by his love of adventure, and his need to know what lay beyond. He was far too invested to turn back now. 

***

Dean had painted for a goodly portion of the night, and drank a goodly portion of the special fruit drink he’d made. He’d finally crawled into bed, half-drunk, but sleep just wouldn't come to him. So he’d gotten up again and wandered around the top floors of the towers, singing and humming nonsense to himself, on and off. The pull to the west was so strong tonight, so very strong, it robbed him of the ability to sleep it seemed.

Finally, when morning was upon him and he still hadn't slept, he opened a window and then the doors to the balcony that looked toward the west. He started singing again, singing of his longing, but longing for what, he didn't know. For whatever it was that called to him. Putting some more wood on the fire he decided he might as well fix breakfast, the sun was barely rising.

It was then that he heard it. The magic Sir Caleb had used long ago when Dean had been young. The sound of the vines climbing, concealing, suggesting to outsiders that the towers were long abandoned. He quickly pushed a steel cover in front of the fireplace and extinguished the oil lamps in the room. He also drew the drapes to cover the east window, where the morning light was filtering into the room. 

Putting on his leather jerkin, he slid into the deep shadows, sword in one hand, shield in the other. He could hear the beast climbing the vines, drawing closer. Someone had activated the magic. Someone knew about it. Or maybe this was merely a test by Sir Caleb. It had been a very long time since he’d tested Dean in this manner, sneaking a beast inside instead of letting it inside below stairs. 

Dean saw the shadowy shape reach the balcony and climb onto it, stand up and looking around. It was in the shape of a man, a tall man. Perhaps a shapeshifter? He kept his breathing shallow as he watched the intruder enter his home and gripped his sword, ready to strike the intruder down.

Standing on the balcony, Sam frowned. There was hardly any light inside, but he'd clearly seen light when he'd been at ground level. He saw a flickering, some firelight behind a heavy grate. There was someone after all.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," Sam sing-songed as he stepped inside. 

As his eyes started to adjust to the darkness he began to walk, arms outstretched. The dagger was at his side, but the fact that occupant of the tower had gone into hiding convinced him he had nothing to worry about. "Boo!" He stamped his foot, and made a face at the resounding silence around him.

Dean watched the man, frowning when he called out for the hidden to show themselves. Was he sent by Sir Caleb? Then the man would know his name. He saw the glint of a weapon, a dagger at the man's waist, but the man was walking around, his hands empty of threat. Boo? What the hell did that mean?

Dean silently set his sword down, his eyes locked on the stranger. He fished one of the silver disks Sir Caleb had given him for the purpose of making silver coating for some of his weapons. He balanced it in his hand and decided it would work. Taking careful aim, he ricocheted it off of the ceiling to hit the man on the top of the head and see if he reacted badly to the silver. 

The sharp tap had Sam slapping his hand onto his head. "Sonofafuckingbitch!" Quickly, Sam moved from where he'd been standing, his eyes darting around the dark depths of the room. He could see big wardrobes and other pieces of furniture, but nothing more. "Get out here. Now. I command it," he shouted with all of the authority he could muster.

That was a tone Dean recognized. That was how Sir Caleb spoke to him when he was pissed. Yet, if this was a test...

Holding the sword and shield at the ready, Dean slowly stepped out of the darkness. "And who are you to command me? This is my post, my station, and unless you have come to relieve me of my position, you have no authority here," Dean said confidently. He'd know soon enough if he had really fucked up.

"Ah." Sam stretched his hand out toward the voice. He could see the figure, but his features were still hidden. The weapons, the fact that he dared raise them in his presence angered Sam. In three well practiced moves, he was in the guy's face, had him disarmed, and then swung him close to the window, where he pressed him up against the wall and leaned in to take a look. Course it was only then that it dawned on him that, in his peasant clothes, this man could not be blamed for not having recognized him and dropped his weapons.

Dean was stunned. He had never faced such moves by an opponent. He fought beasts, and though while sometimes they were intelligent and skilled, they were wary of him. Like Sir Caleb, this man had no fear of him. He was surely a test from Sir Caleb or perhaps...perhaps he was the new protector and Dean might finally be permitted to leave his post! His heart soared at the idea. 

Just as Sam was about to release the man, the lingering moonlight glinted across the guy's eyes. "Jade," he said roughly, a shock jolting straight through him as he cupped the guy's chin and drew him closer so he could see. "You're not a lass." Still, he found himself stealing a kiss, crushing his mouth over the stranger's with a lot less finesse than if he’d been less shocked and inebriated.

Dumbfounded. Dean simply stood there as the stranger's lips pressed against his and he felt the man's tongue trying to gain entrance his mouth. Maybe this _was_ a beast he was supposed to kill. What sort of beast tried to put its tongue in your mouth, though? He’d never read of any such creature, and the way it made his lips burn and a strange sensation fill him, he was at a loss. His brain finally kicked in and he easily threw the man's hands off of him and slipped from his hold.

"What are you?" Dean demanded, backing away, keeping his eyes on his opponent. "What is a jade? And what is a lass?"

Frowning, Sam turned and watched the stranger. "What do you mean, what am I? I am your future king, you are my subject." He licked his lips, slightly angry he hadn't been able to taste the inside of this man’s... this boy's mouth. 

Sam followed, grabbing the guy’s silky shirt and preventing him from moving away. "Open for me. I order you," he said, this time pulling the boy closer and slowly slanting his mouth over the boy’s. 

_King?_ Dean thought. He served the kingdom, therefore he served this future king, didn't he? Should he fight? Could the man in truth be an enemy? 

Dean pulled his head back, preventing their lips from touching. "Open what? What is your name?" Dean demanded, his hands going to the man's shoulders, holding him back but not struggling to get away just yet.

"Why so coy?" There was more light in the room now as the sun rose higher and Sam took the opportunity to study the guy. His features were delicate, his lips nice and plump, yet somehow he still looked masculine. "Come on Jade, lemme get a taste," he moved in but found himself held back by strong arms. "You can't not know my name. Sam."

"Sam. I do not know 'Sam.' The future king is Prince Samuel. The present king is King John. This I know. This Sir Caleb has told me." Dean jerked his shirt free of the man and stepped back. "You should leave. Sir Caleb could be back at any time with more beasts for me to defend the kingdom against. I‘m the Protector of the Kingdom and I don’t have time for your games," Dean snapped. He waved at the door that led to the stairs. "The way to the outside is through there. Be gone." He licked his lips. They still tingled from the touch of the other man's mouth against his. 

"This is ridiculous. _You_ do not order _me_ around. Sam is short for Samuel. There is no Sir Caleb. And there is no 'Protector of the Kingdom.'" He wasn't used to disobedience, except from Bobby. Right, and the whole world when he wasn't in his royal garb. 

Closing an iron grip around the guy's wrist, he started for the stairs. "You will come with me and we will settle this in my home."

As the man dragged Dean toward the exit, Dean reached out and grabbed the iron skillet he had set out to start his breakfast in. Whirling around, he slammed it upside the man's head. The man collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

"I think not, Sam," Dean murmured. Retrieving the chains he had for his battles with the beasts, he shackled the man's ankle to a ring in the wall that had once been used as part of a pulley system. He moved potential weapons out of reach, covered the prone man with a blanket and then turned back to start his breakfast. 

A part of him was joyous on the inside. He had a person in the towers with him. A real person! One with strange ways and strange words, but someone to touch and to talk to. Never mind the man had strange demands as well. He could at least have a few more precious hours with the man before releasing him. Maybe...maybe the man knew what was to the west and would tell him what it was that tugged at Dean’s soul so hard.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam groaned. His head hurt. The ground was uncomfortable. Worse yet, his faceless 'warm, willing and able' of last night had abandoned the bed. "Monique? No... Sarah?" He shook his head and sat up, hopelessly confused. "Get me a piss pot," he ordered, rubbing his eyes and trying to determine where Bobby had brought him after last night’s adventure.

"Dean," Dean said. He used his foot to kick an empty piss pot over to the man. "That’s my name." 

Dean sat on a chair, slowly running a whetstone over the bladed edge of one of his older swords. He’d finally been able to sleep and it was now afternoon. He’d stared at the man since the moment he’d awoken, his gaze slipping between the man and the paintings he had made on the walls, his fingers occasionally touching his own lips. Why had the touch of their lips made his own burn and tingle? His books made no note of such a thing. 

"Dean?" Samuel stood up and undid the fastenings of his pants, a frown marring his forehead. He knew no servant by that name. "Did you get into my pants? You must have been most persuasive," he chuckled as he aimed and started to piss into the pot. "You know it's proper protocol to hold the pot up for me," he noted, not really caring.

Sam’s gaze moved to the floor. Seeing the chain, he leaned over and saw it lead to his own ankle. Moving his foot, he heard the links clank together. "What the hell is this?" he demanded, finishing his business and refastening his pants. He looked over at this Dean person and noticed the sword. "Don't even think of using it on me, or you will die a thousand deaths," he warned. "What is the meaning of this?" His memory started to come back, slowly. The ball, his escape, the taverns...

"That, Sam, is a shackle. If you prove to be a threat to the kingdom," Dean said and gave a shrug, "then it's my job to see you aren't. If you aren't a threat, Sir Caleb will know. If he does not know and is concerned you might be, then he will contact the King's Wizard, Lord Azazel. It's been a good seven-day since Sir Caleb was here. I'm sure he will be back within the next seven-day or sooner, with another beast or two for me to dispatch. When he returns, so will your fate be decided."

"Azazel!" Sam made a face. The head wizard of the kingdom always sent cold shivers down his back, and it wasn't because he was a magic wielder. Everyone knew he pushed the bounds of his authority and overstepped, which was one of the reasons Sam's father had several other wizards on staff to watch what Azazel was up to. He wished his father would just throw Azazel out of the kingdom, but there was a fear the wizard would align with another kingdom and stir up trouble. A wizard could be stripped of his power, but not without just cause, and so far Azazel had not been caught red-handed doing something that might justify a power-stripping ceremony. "The wizard hates me, this is not good."

He was thinking out loud when Dean looked directly at him and the rest of the happenings of last night came rushing back. The eyes, they were just right, even if the rest of Dean wasn't at all what Sam had been expecting all his life. But the quickened thumping of his heart told him it was true 

"You have this urge to keep me." He gave the chain a pointed look. "I understand that. I might want to keep you too, depending on a few things." His gaze dropped to Dean's mouth and lingered as he wondered once more what the boy would taste like. "But you cannot imprison me like this, it is against the King's law." With that, he walked toward the chair Dean was sitting on, but uttered an oath when he found the chain didn't extend far enough.

Dean smirked when Sam was pulled up short. "I'm the law here, and until I know whether you are a danger to the kingdom or not, I have two options." His face turned serious. "Kill you or chain you. If you would prefer the former to the latter, just let me know. It will be as fast and as painless as I can make it."

Standing up, Dean went over to the table where Sam's possessions were scattered and he began to sort through them, covertly watching the man who had invaded the King's outpost. He liked the way the sun glittered off of the shiny stones in the hilt of the dagger and couldn't help playing with it in the sunlight. "What is 'jade?' What is 'lass?'" Dean asked.

Sam watched him, trying to keep calm and as he tried to figure out this boy's buttons. Was he serious with his questions? He noticed how carefully Dean was looking at his things, as if mesmerized by them. "Jade is... it's green, the color of your eyes. Lass, you know... female." He nodded, and then used his hands to gesture and mimic dangerous curves as he gave a low whistle. "Lady, girl. You don't get out much, do you?"

Dean scowled at the strange gestures the man made. "No. If I knew, I wouldn't have asked. I know the words 'lady', 'girl', and 'woman' mean the same thing, but I still don't know what a woman is." He turned and showed the man the blue tattoos on his wrists. "I am the Protector of the Kingdom, as these birthmarks indicate. I cannot leave these walls until the kingdom is safe and I am no longer needed, or until I’m dead. The birthmarks will disappear if I am no longer needed." He stared into Sam's hazel eyes for a long heartbeat. "Your lips. Why did you want to press your lips to mine?" He couldn't deny a part of him wanted to feel those lips against his again and he didn't understand that, not at all.

That was the most ridiculous story ever concocted, and yet, if Azazel was involved, and Dean really was his split-apart, it made sense. Perfect, cold, calculated sense. Clamping down on the anger simmering within him, Sam tried to take a step. Stupid chain! 

Changing tactics, he gave Dean his best seductive smile and crooked his finger. "I've kissed dozens, or um... hundreds of men and women, they all wanted seconds. C'mere. I'll show you," he said, dropping his voice down an octave and raking his heated gaze down and up Dean's body, blatantly focusing on his lips again. 

After studying Sam for a moment. Dean gave a frustrated sigh and set the knife aside. "Fine," he muttered. He was used to answers that weren't answers. 

Walking boldly up to Sam, he spoke. "So show me."

Putting one arm around Dean's waist, Sam took a step back and pulled Dean close, then closer, until their bodies were touching. Heat sizzled between them and Sam knew he wasn't imagining it. He stared into those eyes that had filled his dreams, that had made him crave and need, made him burn with a desire that couldn't be quenched, not even by endless drunken nights spent in the arms of lusty females and males who paled in comparison to the person his soul had been searching for.

Dipping his head down, Sam fitted his mouth over Dean's and kissed him lightly. He ran his tongue across the seam of Dean's lips, tried to push inside, but was prevented from gaining entrance. 

This kissing thing that Sam wanted to do... he was much more precise with it than the first time he had tried, thought Dean. He felt Sam's tongue pushing against his lips again. He’d tested Sam while Sam was out, checking him with silver and holy water and salt and anything else he could think of. The guy didn't seem to be unnatural in nature. But what was it with wanting to put his tongue in Dean's mouth?

Changing tactics, Sam feathered kisses across Dean's lips, moving his hand up and down the guy's back, molding him closer until he heard his indrawn breath. That's when he tried again, pushing his tongue just past Dean's lips and pressing it against teeth that were clenched so tight you'd think the royal jewels were hidden behind them.

The light kisses across his lips made Dean close his eyes, feeling Sam's warm breath brush over him. The path his hand ran up and down his back was like a firebrand. He felt a strange sensation in his stomach and when Sam pulled him closer still, he felt not only his cock begin to harden, but Sam's as well. He ripped himself free of Sam's arms, grabbed a bucket and doused Sam's groin area with the icy cold water.

"The hardening sickness. You have it. Do you need more cold water or is that enough to ease it?" Dean demanded, refilling the bucket, ready to throw it on Sam again. 

"What the..." Arms spread apart, Sam looked down at his drenched pants, then back at Dean. "Are you mad? Do you suffer from brain rot?" 

Seeing Dean lift the bucket, he raised his hands up, this time in a surrendering motion. "No, no more, I'm good." His gaze dropped to Dean's pants, but he saw no evidence of the 'hardening sickness' and was a little disappointed. 

He waited until Dean dropped the bucket before he spoke again. "You're a virgin. It's alright, I've done my share of deflowering, and trust me, most people go on to bloom much better afterwards. But if you don't like the kissing and the hardening... then _that_ could be a problem." And his attempts to seduce Dean would take longer. 

Sam realized he'd have to find a way to get Dean to take this damned shackle off before this unknown Sir Caleb made an appearance. Then he'd have to get Dean home before the New Years.

"The hardening sickness is painful," Dean said with a shake of his head. "Why would anyone _want_ to get the hardening sickness?" He got a blanket for Sam and handed him a pair of dry pants. "You speak of many words that I have always wondered about. Woman. Kissing. Virgin. I don't understand this," he waved his hand, "'deflowering.' People, they bloom? I have never heard of that. I have never bloomed. What do people-flowers look like? Is deflowering pruning? It sounds painful. And why do you think I don't like kissing?" Dean folded his arms across his chest and looked at Sam, waiting on answers.

"You ask a lot of questions." Sam said, answering the one he was most concerned with. "You didn't kiss me back. If you liked cherry pies, would you only stare at one? No, you'd put it in your mouth." Letting that sink in, he shook his wet leg. "You got me all wet, you need to change my clothes. And take this ... this thing off, how are you going to get the pants on me if I'm chained up like an animal?"

"And as usual, I get few answers," Dean snapped. He ran his fingers through his hair. “This... kissing... it involves you putting your tongue in my mouth? Your lips, against mine, it was...it made my stomach tighten, it made me feel different. It was like the start of a storm." Both his eyebrows lifted when the rest of what Sam said sunk in. 

"What do you mean I need to change your clothes? Maybe it is you who has brain rot. I gave you a blanket to dry with and fresh pants. You take off your pants and slide them to the end of the chain. I'll disconnect the chain from the wall, remove them and thread the new pants on and reconnect the chain. Then you can put on the new pants."

"I'm Prince Samuel, and I am giving you the honor of changing my clothes. Do it, or I may catch my death of cold." Sam gave a shiver. "What is it you do with these... these things you are fond of killing? Toss them out the window? You'll need to do that with me. My father will send his armies but that won't be the worst of it. What will be the worst of it is you will dream of my kisses, you will find your stomach tightening, and the... the hardening disease will strike you more and more, but I won't be there to ease the _pain_ with my hand." 

Sam made a loose fist and slowly pumped his hand up and down in a lewd motion that would affect even the most innocent, whether or not they understood. 

"I don't give a flying fuck if you're King John, I'm not changing your clothes for you. I've been able to change my own clothes since I was two. If you catch a cold it's your own fault for being a lazy ass." Shocked by Sam’s gesture, Dean slapped the fist Sam made with his hand. "Do you know nothing, fool? If you touch yourself when hardened, you risk injury. Sir Caleb told me quite clearly that the worst thing to do for the hardening sickness is to touch your cock when it is so ill. Anyone with eyes can see the white puss dripping from it."

Sam's eyes widened at the garbage Dean had been fed. It wasn't only that. The imprisonment that had been imposed on Dean for all these years was cruel enough, but on top of it, they'd let him suffer. Someone with a split-apart would dream often of their other half, and their body would yearn for fulfillment, for release. They'd denied even self-release to this innocent, stubborn, naive boy. 

Sighing, Sam walked away and got close to the fire, dropping down on a chair. His clothes stuck to him, but Dean wasn't the only one who was stubborn. "You're right, it would be foolish," he said. "Imagine dreaming of someone, of say... me... kissing you, on your mouth, and here, and here," he ran a finger down his own throat, and to his chest, pulling his clothes down. "And here, and here," he said, touching his stomach, and then very near his groin. "Then the hardening coming upon you. You cock aching, pressing against your clothes, wanting to be set free. Your breath growing more shallow, your mind exploding with chants... Sam... Sam... Sam."

Licking his lips, Sam stretched his legs out and leaned back, looking very relaxed. "You could imagine it is my hand that frees you from your pants. You're so hard, so hot in my hand. I stroke up and down, and it doesn't make it any better, does it? It makes it worse, makes the storm grow stronger. Makes you wonder how it might feel if I were to kiss you _there_. If I were to suck on it. The thought might make you cry out or, you know..." He gave a few obscene moans, then turned to meet those jade eyes that now burned far hotter than the fire.

Dean couldn't help but watch every move the man made. His mouth had grown dry as Sam told his tale and with the groans Sam made, he felt his own hardening illness begin to flare. "Stop! Damn you man, you...I am not listening to this. And if you want food and water, just shut the hell up now!" He turned away from Sam and strode out to the balcony to try to cool off. "Sir Caleb, please, return quickly," Dean begged softly.

"Dean." There was only silence. "Dean!" Samuel grit his teeth. "It's just like hunger. A gnawing sensation in your stomach. And then you eat, and it's a beautiful feeling, satisfaction at last. It's the same... Dean. Fine. Wallow in your ignorance," he tossed out. "I'll be over here coming hard." He gave a few loud groans and made a couple more panting noises, before moaning out Dean's name.

Smirking, even though he himself was damned hard under his clammy clothes, Sam got up to go to the fire to see what was cooking. Course the chain prevented him from getting close enough to be able to reach the ladle in the pot that hung over the fire. It seemed Dean could starve him if he so chose.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut as if that would shut out the sounds that made his blood burn with a need that he didn't understand. He was grateful when the man finally shut up. He stayed outside for a bit longer, until the ache between his legs eased. 

Although he started to go back in, he decided he just couldn't face dealing with Sam and the strange feelings he stirred inside him. Instead, he jumped up on the balcony railing and climbed the short distance to the top of the turrets. He picked up one of his training swords and spent the next handful of hours working out and practicing, putting the stranger out of his mind as best he could.

*

Walking down the short spiral staircase, Dean cautiously opened the door to his living quarters. He saw Sam on the floor near the fireplace, the blanket below him and the cushion from the chair under his head. Silently he moved over to the fireplace and stirred the pot that was just far enough into the fireplace to allow for its contents to cook slowly. Sampling it, he added some herbs and salt to it, stirred it, then put the lid back on. The bread dough he had made earlier was well risen and he slid it onto the iron rack to bake after he punched it down a final time. 

Then Dean sat down on the floor near the stranger and studied his face. He had only ever seen handful of people through his years, but mostly it was Sir Caleb and much more rarely, the Master Wizard Azazel. He was not typically permitted to meet the other guards or even to speak with them, though he had listened to them talk from the balcony. The only other faces he had seen through the years were those of the beasts he dispatched. 

He remembered feeling Sam's arms around him. When he was very young, Sir Caleb had patted him on the back, and sometimes held him if he were sick, but it had been years since someone had held him in their arms like Sam had. Inching closer to Sam, he reached out and lightly touched his face. 

When Sam didn't stir, Dean ran his fingers over that soft skin, across his eyebrows, traced his cheekbones and even his lips. He felt the slight roughness of the beginning of stubble on the man's face and reached up and touched his own slight growth of beard. The man's shirt had fallen open a bit and Dean traced the same path Sam's own hands had traced earlier when he was taunting Dean. It was so strange to touch another living human.

Taking a deep breath, he leaned in and lightly touched his lips to Sam's. 

He'd been asleep until Dean started touching him, exploring him with the innocence of a child. It wasn't just curiosity that made Sam stay still and feign sleep. He wanted Dean to be comfortable with him, to feel free to learn, but he knew the moment he opened his eyes, and worse yet, his mouth, the spell would break and they’d be enemies once again.

Making a very soft sound, Sam licked his lips, and in the process, Dean's. He wanted so damned badly to push his tongue further and test whether Dean would let him inside now, but instead, he parted his own lips in invitation.

Dean jerked back, feeling heat rise to color his face, when he heard Sam stir and felt Sam's tongue brush across his lips. Sam only shifted a little though, his eyes never opening. Indecision warred within Dean, but when he saw Sam was still asleep, he leaned in again. Swiping his tongue lightly over Sam's lips, he pressed his lips to the man's again. 

The man's mouth was open and Dean tentatively pushed his tongue inside, cautiously exploring the wet heat of Sam's mouth. He didn't quite get the desire Sam displayed, but he did like kissing the man and he thought he understood now what Sam meant when he had said Dean hadn't responded to his kisses. 

There was nothing quite like a good game of cat and mouse, and it seemed to Sam that Dean thought Dean was the cat, playing with his mouse. It amused him that nothing was further from the truth, but as those innocent motions of Dean's tongue inside his mouth started sending pulses of heat through his system, it became crystal clear that they were both mice. Both needing and wanting things, slaves of their condition, perhaps different only to the extent that one of them understood his needs while the other did not.

His vow to hold still, to let Dean explore him without scaring him was getting more difficult by the moment. Dean's hands were flat on the floor, on either side of Sam's body. Each time Dean appeared to get braver, he'd lean down lower, so low Sam could feel his body heat. Course it sent his mind spinning, making him think of disrobing both of them, of tangling their limbs and making love in front of the fire. Things that would send Dean running out that damned window again, for who knew how long.

Fighting his instincts, Sam kept his hands to himself. _Mostly._ Very slowly, he swept his tongue around Dean's, keeping his breathing even and giving no signs of being awake. He gave another murmur, and lifting one hand, put it lightly against Dean's cheek, his thumb sliding back and forth over the corner of Dean's mouth, a trick that worked to have more than one wench open her mouth for him.

Feeling Sam's hand on his cheek Dean pulled back, scrambling away a few feet. He had faced off against innumerable evil beasts fearlessly yet the feelings stirred inside him by this man scared him. He pushed himself to his feet and self-consciously put some more wood on the fire, glancing covertly at the man time and time again. 

Sam had shifted again and now his shirt was pulled up some and his pants had slipped down on his hips, exposing tightly muscled abs. Glistening lips beckoned him, and Dean fiddled with his own shirt. He’d been hot from working out, and now sitting next to the fire, he was even warmer. He pulled off his shirt and tossed it aside, continuing to steal glances at the sleeping man.

Eventually, Dean crept toward Sam again, laying down beside him, propped up on one elbow, his fingers needing to touch that newly exposed flesh. After exploring more of the man's body, he saw the hardening illness was on the man. He reached toward the man's groin, his hand a hair's breadth from touching it then he moved his hand away. He should just wake Sam up. Tell Sam he wanted to kiss him. He wouldn't be happy if he were asleep and woke up to find Sam doing this to him. Well...maybe he wouldn't mind it _too_ much.

Staring at the man that he decided was surely the incarnation of 'beauty,' he reached out and nudged his shoulder. "Wake up Sam....wake up. I...I want to try that kissing thing again."

If Dean hadn't been touching him, if he hadn't almost touched him where he ached, Sam might have made a great pretense of waking very slowly, dragging the wake-up process for as long as he could. Instead, he was already on fire and there was no way he would delay the impending kiss, not for anything. 

Opening his eyes, he felt his stomach clench at the sight of the heat in Dean's eyes. Yeah, the boy didn't know what he wanted, what he needed, but the need was upon him, that much was clear. "Okay," he whispered softly, not wanting to startle Dean or send him scurrying away. He raised his hand and ran it gently along Dean's side, his bare flesh hot under his palm. "You know, kissing works better if, for example, you lay on top of me." His heart started to bang against his chest at the thought. "Of course if you don't really like kissing..."

"I like it," Dean said, trying to sound completely self-assured. His gaze traveled down Sam's body. "You are certain that touching one's cock while the hardening is upon it will not injure it? If I lay on you, your hardening is extreme and I might put pressure on it."

Sam sucked his breath in. "I'm... certain. Why don't you sit on me, legs astride, like you're riding a horse. That should prove you can't harm me." 

Yes, he knew he probably shouldn't be playing with Dean like this, that one day Dean would realize what he'd done and take some sort of revenge, but he couldn't help being who he was, and that was all there was to it. Banishing Bobby's disapproving visage from his mind, Sam put both hands on Dean's hips and started to guide him.

"I've never ridden a horse," Dean said quietly. "I have never left these walls." He let Sam guide him and felt the man's stiff erection against his ass. He heard Sam's hiss and looked suspiciously at him but said nothing. When Sam apparently had him settled where he wanted him, Dean leaned forward and began kissing along Sam's lips, pressing his mouth a bit more firmly with each kiss. Sam's mouth opened and Dean's breath hitched. Okay, he would try. Maybe with Sam awake and responding--though he had given him some response while asleep-- would help him get a better grasp of this. 

When Dean dropped forward to kiss him, his ass ground down more firmly against Sam's cock and it took everything Sam had to swallow his groan of pleasure. With each closed-mouthed kiss, Dean teased him mercilessly, though Sam knew the boy had no knowledge of what he was doing to him. Recalling he'd dared to push his tongue into Sam's mouth, Sam parted his lips in open invitation. 

The instant Dean's tongue slipped inside his mouth, Sam's body reacted. His cock hardened. His hands clamped onto Dean's hips, holding him in place. And his tongue immediately tangled with Dean's, stroking it, twisting around it, showing him how to give chase.

Feeling Sam's hard member rubbing against him sent blood surging to Dean’s cock. But when their tongues began to tangle and Sam held him in place and moved under him, grinding up against him so he could not fail to notice that Sam was rock hard, Dean’s body suddenly seemed to follow suit. Everything twisted up inside him and every inch of his skin seemed super sensitized. He groaned into the man's mouth and demanded more of these feelings that raced through him and threatened to sweep him away.

The fear that Dean would retreat diminished only once Sam caught Dean's needy moan and felt him press down harder, both over his cock and against his mouth. Dean didn't rock against him, didn't move his mouth back and forth, and the lack of additional motion was torture in and of itself for Sam. He knew though that the torture went both ways, that Dean had no idea how to intensify the pleasure until it burned itself out. 

Sliding his hand up Dean's smooth back, over rippling muscles, he brought his hand to a rest at the back of his neck, cradling the lower part of his head. Pressing gently, he started to kiss Dean a little more firmly, still rolling his tongue around Dean's inside his mouth. They kissed like that for a while, then he broke the kiss. "Let me inside your mouth, Dean. Please," he added, pulling Dean back down and thrusting his tongue into his mouth before Dean could protest.

Hot. Wet. Perfect. Perfect for Sam. He'd kissed so many, tumbled so many in the hay, in open fields, in richly covered beds. None affected him like this. None made him burn with need, and love, and the desire to protect and to hold for all time. None but this boy who did not seem to recognize him as his split apart. He should, but he had lived a strange life, and Sam had no idea how it had affected Dean.

Sam started to map out every corner of Dean's mouth. Tasting him. Loving him. Learning him. Wanting him. Wanting him so badly that he lifted his hips and used his other hand on Dean's hip to make him rock back and forth. Wanting him so badly, he forgot Dean was innocent, forgot and deepened the kiss, moving his mouth more and more furiously against Dean's.

The bruising attack of Sam's mouth against him, the feeling of Sam thrusting against him, the way his skin burned with Sam's touch it was an overload of sensations. Dean had rarely even felt the touch of another human, and now, Sam’s touches burned him... overwhelmed him. The overstimulation was too much. 

Dean ripped himself away. He didn't want to but it was like every nerve was on fire and it physically hurt. "Too much, too much," Dean said and stumbled away out of reach, wrapping his arms around himself and pulling his legs up close. He was panting so hard, he was practically gasping for breath.

Sam sat up, his gaze tracking Dean, noticing that even if he got up and tried to follow, the chain would stop him. "Didn't mean to scare you," he muttered. "You're going to give me a complex. _That_ never happens." He couldn't remember the last time anyone he'd touched or kissed ran from him. He'd like to think he was skilled in the art of love-making, and that it wasn't his crown that made the difference. Hell, more than half the time, he was disguised as a peasant so it couldn't be his station that helped him seduce the lads and lasses.

Dean met Sam's gaze and shook his head. "You didn't scare me. I'm...not used to so much... touching. Everything, like it's a firestorm, every touch, it burns," Dean said, not sure how else to explain it. "Every part of me, it feels good but it feels too much. It...hurts … it hurts so good." His pained eyes begged Sam both to understand and to explain to him. "Do people _out there_ touch like this all the time? Is it always so...intense?"

Taking a couple of heavy breaths, Sam tried to bring his own body under control. "Yes and no and sometimes." Seeing the reproach in Dean's eyes, he tried to answer more clearly. "People touch all the time. Hand to hand, bodies brushing past in crowds. Someone might slap your back or... touch you like your Sir Caleb. You know, casually. There's no intense feeling from that type of touching." Sam raised a brow, in case Dean had an argument with that statement. 

"Then there's... what we were doing. Kissing, touching under clothes, rubbing... getting _nice and hard._ That's for when you're alone, not in front of everyone. It can be intense, depends on who you're with. Are you saying you liked it?" he asked, unable to prevent the question from flying from his lips.

The sensory overload was beginning to ease. Dean's gaze flicked to the drawings on his walls of the hazel eyed figure and then back to Sam. "Yeah. Yeah, I want to try again. Just not so much. Not so fast. The food, it's ready I think. Let's eat and you can tell me stories of what it's like where you come from. Then tonight, I want to sleep with you, feel you beside me, my arms around you or your arms around me. Do you need a bucket of cold water to help ease the hardening illness?" Dean asked, slowly pushing himself to his feet. He certainly needed to use some cold water to ease his illness.

"No! No water," Sam said quickly. "And it's not an 'illness,' it's normal. I mean... it means your body has good taste. It likes mine." He grinned, pushing up from the floor. "I'm all for eating and holding you in bed or anything else you want. But since we're getting to be such great friends and you know I'm not an evil monster, you want to get this off?" He shook his shackled leg.

Dean looked at the chain and then back up at Sam's smiling face. "No. You know if you hurt me, you're fucked. The key is out of your reach. You still confound me. Until I trust you, until I learn more about you, the shackle stays on."


	3. Chapter 3

Dean walked over to the fireplace and pulled the bread out and filled two bowls with the stew. He retrieved some cheese and put the bread and cheese chunks on plates. He didn’t ask why Sam chose to sit on the floor instead of one of the chairs he could easily reach, but just handed his dinner to him and then got them some water to drink.

Shifting uncomfortably from his still too hard cock, Dean tried to find a position that made it more bearable as he sat down, on the floor, near Sam.

Sam couldn't say he was very happy with this. He wasn't used to being crossed or to not getting his way, especially once he turned on the heat the way he had with Dean. "So I'm your prisoner, not friend."

Sam dipped a piece of bread into the stew and took a bite. It was surprisingly good and had him smacking his lips as he picked up his spoon and dug in. There was no sense in starving and the night was still young.

"You know it’s New Years in a matter of days. By then, I’m supposed to select a partner, the person I will be with for the rest of my life. I was out looking for that person." Sam let that sink in as he broke off a piece of cheese. "If I don't come back with my partner of choice, then my father will select my partner for me and I won't have any say in the matter. If you keep me shackled, I may never find the right person, or if I do and you keep me too long, it may be too late."

"Is that why you climbed the tower? Looking for your partner?" Dean asked. He was fairly confident that Sam wasn't a beast of evil. And what if Sam was Prince Samuel? It was improper for the Protector of the Kingdom to chain the prince, he was pretty certain of that. It was pretty unlikely Sam was here to kill him since the man had only come with a dagger but Sir Caleb had told him that no one would come into these dangerous lands without an evil reason in their hearts.

"I climbed the tower because it was there," Sam gave a shrug. "But I've been looking for my partner forever. Always ... always to the east, this is the farthest east that I've ever been. Did you ever look out that window? Look to the west and feel... sense someone was searching for you? That would be me," he said quietly. Earnestly.

Dean's head snapped up. How could Sam know...?

"I dream of someone." Dean said softly, waving his spoon at the paintings on the walls. "He has hazel eyes, like you. A tall man. Sometimes he rides a white horse, blue barding on the horse, and he's a knight. He has platemail that is near blinding in the sun. But usually, he's dressed plainly. He has dark hair, but I've never seen his face. Just those eyes that haunt me almost every time I sleep. All I've ever dreamed of is going to the west. So many years I've tried to leave, but I cannot pass beyond the last few stairs nor climb lower on the outside of the tower than just below my balcony. Sir Caleb said I must accept my post, my destiny as the Protector, and so I finally did, but I still long to travel west even though I know I never shall."

Dean fell silent and realized that endless pull inside him was gone. For the first time, maybe ever, his soul felt at peace, almost whole. He stared at Sam.

"I am your west. You are my east." Setting his plate down, Sam crawled over to Dean and sat next to him, putting his arm around Dean's back, his hand resting on Dean's hip. "Your eyes haunted me too. I looked everywhere. This... this place," he swung his free arm around to gesture. "I'm convinced it is a ploy by Azazel to keep you from me. Dean, there is no such thing as ‘The Protector.’ They've lied to you to keep you away from me. Now that I've found you, you’ll be free. You have my word as prince of the kingdom, you are free. We will return together and I will introduce you as my mate, as my split-apart. No one and nothing can stand in our way."

"Why? Why would Sir Caleb lie? He is my trainer and friend. And the King's wizard was always very generous to me. And why would they want to keep me away from you?" Dean asked, but felt his heart pound harder and faster in his chest.

"Azazel is one scheming sonuvabitch. I can't even pretend to know for sure what he was thinking, but my guess is that he somehow knew you are my split-apart. Do you know the concept?" When Dean shook his head 'no,' Sam explained that a portion of the population was born knowing that they had another half somewhere in the world. That split-apart pairs were thought to share a soul, and that by the younger one's eighteenth birthday, they always found each other. To have wide age gaps between any pair was almost unheard of. Because of this, despite Sam's protests, his parents and those around him believed he was wrong, that he did not have a split-apart waiting for him. Or worse, they thought he was lying about the feelings inside him in order to avoid his duties to get married and produce children.

"I suppose Azazel it’s possible he thought he was doing the kingdom and my father a favor, forcing my hand in choosing a princess to share my future throne with, someone who can bear children." It was hard to believe that Azazel's motive might have been altruistic, though misguided, but he could think of no other purpose. "His means are savage, he had to know that we would both suffer, and that our suffering would grow over the years. Do you believe me? That we belong together?" Sam took Dean's plate away and stared into his eyes, willing him to agree.

"My birthday...it's three weeks after the New Year. I'll be...eighteen," Dean said. Then he frowned. "Sir Caleb, when last he came, he took clippings of my hair, my fingernails and even some of my blood. He told me Azazel's daughter, Lady Meghan, was ill but that these things from the Protector of the Kingdom would heal her. I overheard Sir Caleb talking with some of his men as they rode away, saying that Azazel's daughter would soon be irresistible to the prince."

"Meg would be the last person I'd... yeah, short of his sorcery." Sam's jaw hardened. "It won't happen. I choose you. I have made my choice and nothing will sway me." Leaning in, he spoke against Dean's lips. "Now free me, so that I may free you and we can be on our way home."

Dean cupped Sam's cheek with his hand. "I would--" Dean froze when he heard the sound of horses, his eyes widening even more when he heard the faint sound of the stone door far below scraping open. He jumped to his feet and grabbed the key from the mantel, unlocking Sam's shackle. "You must hide!"

Pulling Sam to his feet, Dean shoved a protesting Sam inside. "I will use the skillet on you again if you don't shut up!" Dean threatened, throwing clothes and a fur rug into the wardrobe. He quickly pushed the doors closed and slid the wooden peg in place to keep them shut.

Rushing over to the ring in the wall, he unhooked the shackle, and dropped it and its chain by the sword he had been sharpening. Quickly he scraped the stew from Sam's bowl back into the pot, dropping the spoon down into the stew to hide it, then wiped the bowl clean with a rag and put it back in the cupboard. After tossing the pillow and blanket onto the chair, Dean slipped his shirt on and picked up his sword and shield, sliding back into the shadows as he had when Sam had first invaded.

A big muscular man burst into the room, his sword out, three more men pouring in behind him. "Dean!" the man called out.

Dean stepped out of the shadows. "Sir Caleb! The vines appeared on the tower this morning. Why did you not tell me you were here? Is something hunting me? I have stayed hidden, as I did when I was a child, but I grew hungry..."

"Has anyone come here?" Caleb asked, his pale blue eyes scanning the room as the men walked around it, searching behind furniture and checking dark niches.

"No, I've seen no one." Dean saw Sam's belongings on the table and walked casually over, setting his shield on top of them, hiding them from view. "Is the King's Wizard’s daughter well? Did my blood and hair cure her?"

"What? Yes, yes she's fine," Caleb confirmed walking around the room. He rested his hand on the wardrobe handle. "An evil man is on the loose. He may come to you, tell you tales that he is Prince Samuel, tell you a ridiculous tale of something called a 'split-apart' and that you and he are meant to be together. He's tall, with shifty green eyes and rides a white horse. If he comes, you must not kill him. You must lock him up in the cell, gag and chain him. Do not listen to any of his ridiculous stories. You must not hurt him though. He is trying to tempt you to leave your post. The Wizard Azazel has seen great evil coming and you must be here to defend against it. The Prince is soon to marry and the kingdom is vulnerable until that time. I'll be in the area until then and leave two guards at the tower base to aid you."

"Yes, sir!" Dean said. He held his breath as he watched Caleb open the door of the wardrobe and peer inside. "I will do my duty, Sir Caleb. I will make you proud of me and protect the kingdom. I won’t leave my post."

Caleb turned and eyed the young man, closing the door to the wardrobe. "Very good." He saw Dean's meal on the floor. "You were eating? On the floor?"

"Yes sir. I was sitting by the fire so as to be near it if a beast came in. I would have fire and my sword." Dean pointed out the things he had used to test Sam's humanity with. "I have the silver and salt and holy water ready, too."

Caleb gave an approving nod, then walked over and picked up the second mug of water. "And why two mugs?" he asked suspiciously.

"I have not watered my plants yet. I simply filled the second mug to do so," Dean answered easily, nodding his head toward one of the plants sitting on a table near the balcony. "Can I get you and your men some water or something to break your fast?" Dean asked, moving to the cupboard. "Will you be leaving the vines up for now?"

"No. No, we have to continue our hunt," Caleb said after a pause. He looked around the room a final time. "We'll do a search of the towers to ensure you are safe, then continue on. Keep the balcony closed and the fires low. I want no attention drawn to this place and if I am not here, no easy way for something to climb up the towers."

"Yes, sir," Dean said and watched the men leave. He sank into the chair at the table as he listened to the footsteps on the staircase.

Counting to five, Sam burst out of the closet, tossing a piece of clothing that had been draped over his face onto the ground. "That man was exiled for treason years ago! He's a mercenary. Give me your sword and tell me, how many are with him?" Sam demanded, ignoring the sword Dean had been sharpening but looking for the newer one Dean had been wielding when Sam first entered the tower. "Come on, this is no time to rest."

"Quiet!" Dean hissed. "At least three are with Sir Caleb in the towers, at least two more outside. I've seen as many as ten or fifteen with him before so I don't know how many there are outside. Wouldn't it be wisest to let him leave and then you would only have to evade the two guards?" He handed Sam the sword he typically used against the evil things Sir Caleb brought for him to kill.

Gripping the hilt, Sam stopped mid-stride. Dean had a good point. Moreover, what if there was a way to seal the tower completely and thus trap him in here with Dean? It was best to wait for the bastard, Caleb, to leave. "You're right." He walked to the window, but hid to one side, watching shadows pass by the small windows of the second tower. Turning his head, he met Dean's gaze. "What do you mean you? We're leaving this place together."

Dean gave him a strained smile. "It's a nice dream. You're a nice dream. But..." he shrugged, "...I told you, I can't leave. The magic won't let me." He walked up to Sam and tilted his head a little so he could look into the man's eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I... stopped. Earlier. It was just so much... touching and hardening."

Wrapping his arms around Sam he pulled him into a kiss, pushing his tongue into Sam's mouth and sliding his thigh between Sam's legs with a soft moan.

This wasn't the time to... but, yes, yes it was. Sam had gone so long without it, without the other half of his soul, he couldn't resist. In a matter of three steps, he had Dean's back pressed up against the wardrobe. The sword clattered to the floor and he was kissing Dean back like they'd never stopped, like Dean hadn't run from him before.

Alarms rang in Sam’s head, reminded him that Dean wasn't used to this, that he ought to go slow, be gentle, let Dean learn for himself what he needed. And yet his body demanded more. Dean's pull on his soul was simply too strong to fight.

Sam ran his hands over Dean's chest and abs, loving the subtle way in which Dean thrust his hips forward, not quite rubbing against him, but definitely needing to. He kissed Dean harder, moving his tongue furiously in and out of Dean's mouth, claiming him, showing him who he belonged to. Catching every moan, every gasp, knowing beyond any doubts that this was right, this was meant to be.

The way Sam's tongue pulsed in and out of his mouth practically made Dean dizzy. His hips wanted to move but Dean forced them to be still, at least as much as he could. He was hard all over again in just a handful of breaths. What if Sam wasn't the prince like he claimed? What if Sam was the man Sir Caleb said he was? Clutching Sam tighter he decided he didn't care. It wasn't as if he would be able to leave anyhow.

Just like before Sam's touch set him on fire. His soul thirsted for this man, just even being in Sam's presence was a salve to the ache that forever resided inside him. He couldn't get enough of being close to Sam, but he also felt that sensory overload making him tingle all over again.

Sam gave a final moan and broke their kiss, turning his head and gasping. "Slower. Please, can we go slower?" Dean begged. He wanted it. He wanted it so badly, though he wasn't really sure what 'it' was.

"Wha... we are going slow," Sam groaned, just stopping himself from chasing Dean's mouth and demanding more kisses. Sliding his hands over Dean's ass, he lifted him slightly as he pulled him up hard against his frame.

"You're hard. I'm hard. Let's do this. Let me have you," Sam demanded, his voice rough with lust. "Need you so much. Waited too long already. Both of us have," he said trying to persuade Dean to keep going. Taking the lack of an answer as agreement, he pressed Dean against the closet again, groaning as his cock came into harder contact with Dean's. "Mouth. Now," he demanded, seeking Dean's lips with his own.

Dean couldn't help but wonder what Sam considered fast. Let Sam have him? What the hell did that mean? And they had waited too long already? Was the hardening sickness more dangerous than Sam had implied? Feeling the pressure against his own cock Dean groaned. He was about to risk it, to trust Sam, when Sam's order pulled him out of the moment like a knife slashing him. He shoved Sam away.

"I'm not yours to order or own," Dean hissed and dodged Sam's grasp. He reached the bucket of cold water and picked it up, tossing its contents on Sam. "The illness is obviously strong on you."

Sam started to swear up a storm, only lowering his voice because Caleb and his men might still be around. He'd heard Dean singing from outside, thus there was no reason his own shouting wouldn't be heard. He pulled his wet clothes away from his body, giving Dean a disgusted look.

"I am not the one who’s ill. Who in their right mind offers someone a strawberry tart, but tells them to only lick it, not swallow. I don't know how to deal with children or shrinking violets," he spat. "And I've done nothing to make you want to kill me... of cold."

"Children? At least I know how to dress myself and don't require someone to hold my piss pot," Dean retorted. "If you need to," Dean waved his hand, "swallow, then, I'm sorry but this strawberry tart is not yet ready to be eaten!" He stomped over to the blanket and threw it at Sam. "If you are so hungry, then sit your ass down and I will get you more stew." Turning his back on the man, he dug the bowl out from the cupboard and got a fresh spoon. His cock ached so badly he was certain that damage was going to be done if he didn't find some way to wilt the stiffness.

"I beg to differ, I'm an expert on strawberry tarts and you, sir, are ready!" Sam retorted, only to feel foolish and thank God no one else was about to hear him. Storming to the window again, he looked down and saw that Caleb's men, all of them, had a campfire going. It seemed that they were going to wait until morning. Sighing, he came back, very aware of the stiffness of Dean's back as the boy started to fill up new bowls.

"Look you," he started, pointing at Dean. Then dropped his hand. He was wet, and hungry, and he did not want to be pushed toward anger so he decided not to pursue the discussion. Instead, he started to strip, hiding a grin when he saw Dean start to turn and then look back at the pot on the fire.

Sam took his time and once he was stripped down to nothing, he walked up to Dean. "The fire should dry my clothes," he said casually, bending over and setting his clothes out. "In the meantime, I suppose an air bath will do me good."

Dean stared at Sam's firm ass and muscular body. "I-I-I thought it was improper to reveal skin in such a way. The books--" Dean clamped his mouth shut. What did he know of the world? He had only ever had conversations with Sir Caleb and those were predominantly related to fighting techniques and beastly lore. That and the manuscripts and books were all that he knew of the outside.

"I have never heard of an air bath," he said quietly and handed Sam his fresh bowl of stew. He went and closed the doors to the balcony and covered the windows since Sir Caleb had told him to hide the fire.

Picking up the empty bucket, Dean refilled it with cold water. Then he lifted it and poured the water down his front side, hissing his displeasure as he tried to rid himself of the hardening illness.

Sam had been completely ready to make up more tales about air bathing, when the sadness in Dean's voice got to him, making him turn just in time to see Dean douse himself with cold water. "Dean... Dean..." he let out a sigh and putting his bowl down, came up to him and started to undress him.

"You've never heard of an air bath because not everyone takes one. It's a uniquely 'me' thing, I'm very special, in many ways, if only you'll let me show you." He finished undoing Dean's pants and started to peel them off. "You can take an air bath with me, or change, or whatever you... oh by all that's holy, you're so damn hard!" His indrawn breath was audible as his gaze travelled from the base of Dean's cock, up its length pressing against Dean’s stomach, to its tip. He licked his lips and slowly sank to his knees, his hands on Dean's hips. "Let me help you with that."

"It hurts," Dean said softly. "You can make it stop hurting? I am afraid I will be damaged if it doesn't stop hurting."

"Yeah, I can help. Dean, that's not pain, it's just... it's extreme pleasure. Desire. Hunger, like I told you before. I'm going to... I'm going to kiss it better. Trust me," he whispered, moving very slowly as he leaned in and pressed his lips against Dean's wet, rock hard flesh. He moved his lips back and forth in one place, getting Dean used to the sensation, before kissing his way up his shaft.

"I get pleasure from working out. This isn't pleasure," Dean muttered. He gasped when Sam's lips came to rest on his cock. He gripped Sam's shoulders. His cock throbbed under Sam's mouth and he wasn't sure what Sam was doing was helping much at all. Milky liquid began leaking from his slit and he moaned. "I think you're making it harder," Dean managed to pant out between the sounds coming from him, a cross between sobs and groans.

"Will the hardening illness...will it make you ill, too?" Dean didn't want this man, who admittedly annoyed the hell out of him half the time, to get sick because of him. Though their kissing had already made them both rife with the illness.

It was bad and wrong but Sam couldn't help being affected by Dean's innocence. This was the sort of scenario he would bring himself off to, imagining being with someone who marveled at his touch and didn't quite understand the magic behind it, someone who pleaded for help, for relief from the hot flames of desire. It was as if Dean walked out of one of those very daydreams, though Sam was very aware that Dean meant much more to him than a few moments of pleasure.

He ran his hand up Dean's bare thigh, lodging his hand between his legs, his thumb lightly massaging Dean's balls. "It's not an illness, it's a gift. If you stop dousing yourself with water, stop rejecting the gift, you will have both pleasure and relief," he promised.

Bending his head to the side, and keeping his eyes on Dean's face, he licked his tip, sweeping the bead of cum clean off, then licking him again. "That's not pain, it's pleasure, it's the need to have me take you in my mouth," he said. Taking Dean's hand, he brought it over Dean's cock, squeezing lightly. "Bring it to my mouth." Tilting his head back, Sam licked his lips and parted them in invitation.

The light touch to his balls made Dean groan and all his muscles tightened. The light brush of Sam's tongue over his tip was practically agony. He started to jerk his hand away when Sam guided it to his cock, but at this point he didn't care if he was damaged. He just wanted the pressure eased.

Staring at Sam's open mouth, he did as Sam told him. He had never read about such a thing in his books and he felt almost foolish. The wet heat his cock was suddenly enveloped in nearly made his knees go weak and he gasped.

"N-now what?" Dean whispered.

Sam sucked very lightly and pulled off Dean's cock. "Now hold onto my shoulders and let me do all the work. Trust me." Leaning in, he licked Dean again, before grasping his cock in his hand and slowly pumping up and down. He felt Dean's cock twitch and his own surged in response, pressing against his stomach. Ignoring his 'pain' and concentrated on Dean's, taking him once again inside his mouth.

Sam was neither too gentle nor too rough, but had a single goal. He had to show Dean the culmination of what he perceived as pain was something to be desired and encouraged, not suppressed. He didn't tease or attempt to prolong the deed, but instead stroked with his hand and sucked on Dean's cock in a steadily increasingly fast rhythm. If he hadn't been as experienced a man, the sounds that Dean made, his reactions to this... to his first time, Sam would surely have been led astray from his goal. But he managed to resist temptation and gave Dean everything he could in a short span of time, before his mate could rethink this and change his mind.

Sir Caleb's warnings echoed in Sam’s mind about touching the hardness, but Sam seemed confident that this was the better way to deal with the problem and that it wouldn't harm Dean. As Sam's tongue curled around his shaft, Dean groaned, gasping and moaning as Sam sucked on his cock, and as his hands and lips slid up and down its length.

Dean’s hands tightened on the man's shoulders, knowing he was probably bruising Sam but he couldn't help it. His hips began to thrust of their own accord, almost as if he were possessed, but his mind couldn't string any thoughts together. It felt better and better the more Sam worked on him, even if the pressure seemed to intensify. He could sense something was happening inside his body, something was building. He strangled back his scream as his balls tightened ferociously hard and he felt himself spewing liquid into Sam's mouth, but he couldn't stop, he just couldn't stop. ....And it felt so damned good....

Though Sam had to protect himself from Dean's inexperienced thrusts that threatened to choke him, the fact that he'd been able to strip Dean of his reluctance and shown him how good it could be to listen to his body, to allow himself this, to abandon himself to it, thrilled and excited Sam. He swallowed everything Dean gave him, milking him, sucking hard at first and then easing up and gentling the motions of his mouth when he knew that Dean's cock was likely to be overly-sensitive now that he'd come.

Wrapping his arms around Dean's body, across his back and ass, he pulled him close, taking him all the way into his mouth then letting his cock slip free.

Wordlessly, he stripped Dean’s boots and pants off, unsurprised that Dean had no protests for him and just stood there catching his breath. Leaning in, he kissed Dean's stomach, then pulled him down as he sat back on the floor, finding himself with Dean sitting astride on his lap. "Tell me my innocent, better than cold water?" he asked thickly, looking into Dean's unfocused eyes.

"That was..." Dean cleared his throat and nodded feeling his face flush. "This...illness...it's normal? This is the way to...get rid of it? It isn't a bad thing, not really an illness. But, the white liquid...." Dean bit his upper lip. "Never mind. I don't wanna know." He felt Sam's cock pressing against him. "You...you need my mouth now?"

Sam gave a semi-pained chuckle. "A little being too hard never killed anyone. Water on the other hand..." Running his knuckles over Dean's flushed face, he leaned in and kissed him. It was a slow, thorough kiss. Sam took his time, mapping out the inside of Dean's mouth, then playing with his tongue, showing him how to chase and be chased, and moaning when Dean's tongue slipped into his own mouth. By the time their lips parted and they each drew deep breaths, he could honestly say that the kiss had been anything but innocent. "That's how you taste. Perfect to me," he said, tightening his hold on Dean. "You do belong to me, and I to you."

Dean hadn't been sure what to expect, Sam had just swallowed down all his fluids and it would still be in his mouth. He had expected something horrible but what he tasted was sort of a salty flavor, one he couldn't really identify. The kiss was more wonderful than he had expected it to be, so slow and teasing, and his stomach did these sort of little flip-flops right alongside a burn inside him he couldn't put name to.

"You belong to me?" Dean said, studying Sam's face. "Are you really a prince? The prince?"

"I look more princely in my own clothes and with a... you know, crown." Sam rolled his eyes. "Yes, on both counts. I can't wait to show you the world. To get to know you, everything about you. You're not exactly what I expected, but... well, you're exactly what I always wanted. Big and strong," he ran his hands over Dean's broad shoulder, "not someone stuck in protocol. Definitely not a simpering anything," he added, thinking about his long list of complaints about the princesses that were introduced to him, although half his complaints were made-up excuses.

Dean laughed a little bitterly. "Not exactly a complex person here. Grew up here. Never been outside these walls. I know how to kill things. I make stupid little puzzles and stuff to pass the time. I have thirty-one manuscripts about how to kill things. I have sixteen books about," he nodded toward the balcony, "out there. I paint. I cook my own meals and mend my own clothes. The last time someone held me in their arms I was six and very sick. The most physical contact I get is a handshake, a pat on the back, or a squeezed shoulder maybe once or twice a month. If then. I have apparently been lied to all my life. I have seen all of maybe fifteen people in my entire life, all men, and most of my conversations are held with myself. I am at least charming and entertaining," Dean finished with a smirk.

"Would you like to, uhm, see the rest of my paintings after we eat? We could also take a hot bath if you'd like," Dean said, his stomach growling softly. It was such a nice dream to imagine leaving the towers. Too bad it was only a dream. Still, he would pretend right along with Sam for as long as Sam stayed.

Sam liked the sound of Dean's voice, its low timbre, even if he had trouble concentrating on everything Dean said while Dean was sitting on him like this. "You'll never have to mend clothes or cook again, unless we are on an adventure and you choose to play that role. I'll look at your art and what you've written. I do want to know you," he emphasized. "Let's eat. And I accept your offer to bathe me. Maybe I should get dressed so you'll have to undress me as well," he chuckled, remembering Dean's earlier outburst.

Rolling his eyes, Dean got up and took off his partly wet shirt. "I am not bathing you, dressing you, undressing you, cutting up your meat, or doing anything else a grown man should be capable of doing for himself. There's enough water in the heated part of the cistern to fill the stone bath once a day." He pulled on some dry pants and then got a blanket to wrap around Sam. "You will catch a cold if you continue your air bath. For a prince, you certainly don't seem skilled in some of the basic necessities of life, including having common sense."

"I have Bobby for common sense. Maybe you, now." Sam pulled the blanket around himself and got up, pulling a chair up close to the fire and sitting down in it. He didn't miss the dirty look Dean shot at him, but nevertheless waited until Dean passed him the bowl of stew. "Besides, my air bath got me farther with you than all the talking I did," he pointed out.

Sam ate in silence for a while, occasionally looking at Dean and catching him looking back. When Dean looked up at the ceiling, Sam followed his gaze. "Is that me?" The eyes half shrouded by clouds were remarkable likenesses to his own, only romanticized. He most definitely did not have long lashes like that. Nor did his eyes gleam with such lust, not all of the time at least. "You have a view of me from your bed." He couldn’t help the smug smile.

"Those are the eyes I dream of every night. I thought maybe if I painted them on the ceiling they would stop haunting me, and they make me feel less alone. Do you, uh, dream of me?" Dean asked, finishing off the last of his stew. He couldn't help the way he kept staring at Sam. To finally have a face to go with those eyes....

"All the time, yes. I see you in places you're not. I drink to fool myself, that someone else, whoever I'm with, is you." Sam pulled his gaze away and looked into the fire. "I search when I can, and think about searching when I can't. I'm supposedly the luckiest man in the kingdom, yet the last few years have been.... The worst of it is that I couldn't prove you existed. I knew it, here," he touched his heart, "but no one believed. They wanted me to do my duty, to choose someone. But how could I?"

Clearing his throat, Sam looked back at Dean. "All of that is in the past now. I don't have to dream, I don't have to search. I have found you and nothing and no one will stand between us. I know, it's overwhelming," he said seeing a wariness enter Dean's eyes. "I'll try to be patient. You can kick me in the head when I'm not. Not literally, that would be a crime," he clarified, "which... you may have already committed when you trussed me up and threw me into that closet."

"Be glad I didn't toss you off the balcony. And tossing you in that wardrobe saved your life. Sir Caleb and his three men, in leather armor, with swords, versus you, in your simple cloth and bare hands, I think you would have lost." Dean took another bite of his bread and washed it down. "...That wardrobe, when I was younger, I used to pretend it was the towers. I would fight off all the evil beasts until there were none left and my duty was done. Then I would burst out of the wardrobe, free of my destiny and free of this place. I would step out and explore the towers as if it was all new to my eyes. Meet people and shake their hands. I would have a horse and ride across the valleys, and everyone would admire me for saving the kingdom. And I would ride to the west. I would ride and ride until I finally found whatever is was that my soul was begging me to find. Then I would have a family and a dozen kids and live in a home that never smelled of blood and evil." Dean stared at the wall as he remembered those almost forgotten dreams and a smile touched his lips.

"A dozen children," Sam rubbed the back of his neck. Children would be a sticking point. There were ways around it, they could adopt , that much was true, not that Sam had any intention of being surrounded by twelve bratlings. A few would be more than enough. But for purposes of the throne, he'd need some guidance as to selecting a blood relative as his heir. He didn't relish seeing the disappointment in his father's eyes, but surely he would understand since he had Mother, his very own split-apart. "Let's see if you still want them after you've met a few."

Finishing up his food, Sam set his bowl on the table and walked to the window, creaking it open slightly. He could hear the men singing around the fire and by the way they were slurring, he knew they were already in their cups. "Do you know your parentage?" He turned his head to look at Dean. The boy had even, delicate features and a certain bearing. If, as Sam suspected, royal blood ran through Dean's veins, it would not be too difficult to find his family.

Dean took their empty bowls and put them in the wash pot which he set on the rack where the bread had been. "No. Sir Caleb said it didn't matter, that my parents did their duty in offering me to the service of the kingdom. Though I remember when I was very young, kingsmen from the south came here, asking about a young boy about my age. Sir Caleb made me hide so I couldn't hear anything else." Dean lead Sam over to a small painting he had made, obviously when he was very young, of a man on a horse, holding a pennant with the symbol of the sun on it. "These were the colors that they were flying. On my birthday, every year, I see lights in the sky to the south." He grinned self-consciously. "I pretend they are for me."

Deep frown lines marred Sam's forehead as he inspected the painting and listened to Dean's tale. "You may well be correct. Those are the colors of the Chesters and their kingdom lays in the south. I vaguely remember something about an evil that came upon the kingdom a long time ago, stealing away many children until..." His head jerked up and his eyes grew hard as flint. "Until my father allowed Azazel to assist. Azazel was hailed as a hero for putting an end to that evil. I grow more and more sure that the reason you've been imprisoned is to keep you from me," he said angrily. "He will pay. I swear it, he will pay."

"I am correct about what? That my parents are from the south and...and you are saying Sir Caleb and the wizard Azazel stole me from them? But what of my birthmarks that say I am the Protector?" He held out his tattooed wrists. "And I have another one I am not supposed to ever show anyone. Azazel said...he said it could be mistaken for a mark of evil." He turned and loosened his pants, showing Sam the dark splotch on the right cheek of his ass. "I always thought it looked like the sun, rather like the pennant the kingsmen were carrying," Dean said. "I've never read anything about such a mark or a connection to evil."

"I really should take a close look at that," Sam automatically said, touching the reddish mark with one hand, and gripping Dean's pants with the other, preparing to tug it down farther. "You should bend ov--"

Hell and damnation, just when did he develop a conscience? "It's... I see," Sam said pulling away from temptation. "This looks like a real birthmark. The marking on your wrists must have something to do with magic, or it's Azazel furthering his story about your duty. Also, if you want to have a serious conversation with me, I counsel you not to... you know, show me your ass, or your other assets, and stop licking your lips like that. I may have a few peccadilloes... very few."

"And what are your other peccadilloes?" Dean snorted. "Aside from expecting people to dress you, bathe you, be your conscience, and wanting the hardness on you all the time?"

"That covers most of them. Hey, you don't know how lucky you are, some people have a list as long as my arm." He wasn't going to mention drinking and carousing, not that he expected to be able to keep any secrets. Bobby would be more than willing to fill Dean's ears with nonsense, that was for sure. "Besides, most people believe it's an honor to dress, bathe and bed me. You should see them running over each other when I drop something. Although, that only works when I'm in royal garb." In many a tavern, he'd been the one expected to pick things up for others who were higher on the pecking order, like wealthy farm dung sellers, rogues, and thieves.

"I guess you're lucky, too, since I don't think I have any peccadilloes." Dean took Sam's hand and dragged him over to some of his paintings.

"You're wicked with a skillet, which would not be a problem if you didn't have a tendency to aim it at me," Sam countered.

"These are things I've read about but have never seen so I had to imagine what they looked like." Beneath each drawing was the name of whatever it was he had tried to paint. 'Courage' had a man on horseback in silver armor, 'beauty' had a painting of hazel eyes....

Staring at the wall and then pulling Dean close, putting his arm around Dean's waist, Sam spoke. "I don't want to lose this, any of this. We'll have the towers copied, including your paintings. They're a piece of you, and of me," he added. He saw that 'truth' was represented by clear water, 'justice' was the sword Dean had given him, but what gave Sam pause was the representation of 'happiness.' It appeared to be a long dark tunnel with a speck of light at the very end, hardly visible if you moved away. It made him sad and angry about the way Dean had been robbed of his childhood.

"Happiness is... it's the sun shining. It's this," he said, pulling Dean into his arms and holding him tight, like he was the most precious gift of all. "This, being one, a light feeling right here," he put his hand between their bodies and touched Dean's diaphragm. "I'll take the darkness away, I swear it, Dean. From now on, it will only be light."

"My heart beats fast when you hold me, and I feel like I do sometimes when I'm ready to fight a beast. Excited. Scared. Invincible. Happy," Dean said, looking into Sam's eyes. "Huh, your eyelashes are longer than I thought," he murmured, tilting his head and lightly brushing his fingers over those lashes of Sam's left eye. "I have paintings everywhere in the towers. A lifetime of paintings. I did a painting of a woman once. Sir Caleb said it was good but wouldn't make any suggestions to fix it and make it better." Dean led Sam over to the painting. "Is this good?"

"It's ah... ah..." He swallowed, trying to find a way to tell Dean that a male figure did not turn into a female figure just because it had flowers and plants all over it. He inspected the man's face and noted it was slightly different from the others, the figure's expression was less fierce. "Well, you've captured 'feminine softness' quite well, what with the smile and the flowers and what not," he waved his hand, even as he was thinking of one or two people of the female persuasion who would likely love to throw a punch at him for that comment. "And they're all very different from each other so... so when you meet one or a dozen, you'll need to decide for yourself. I do love the ah... skin showing through the flowers," his gaze went to the figure's groin area. "One little, small, tiny matter... women don't suffer the 'hardening illness' or have the same parts as men. Did you make me any dessert?"

Dean tried to puzzle that out. "Parts? They do not look like men? I wish I could see one. My books do not describe them very well. Ivory skin. Delicate features. And 'bosoms.' Tall, short, thin, fat, gentle, shrewish, strong, weak, whimpering, fiery, kind, motherly, soft. It's very confusing." He ran his fingers over his drawing. They always seemed to like flowers in the books which is why he put flowers all over her. "No, I didn't make a dessert. I have some fruit. I can make a pie and it can bake while we bathe if you want. Or I could make some tarts."

"Tarts," Sam said decisively. Little did he know he would he would be put to work, doing menial tasks, such as rolling dough and fetching things for Dean. In reality, he botched things up quite badly and wasn't much help. He'd never been gladder to be ordered away from a room, though he did manage to dip his finger in the jam as he escaped Dean's rolling pin. No, he would not jest and call Dean a woman, not while he was wielding that weapon!


	4. Chapter 4

They'd gone down a flight of stairs to another level and Sam had to say he was impressed with the large bath which turned out to be a pool. Hot water was pouring in and steam rose from the surface of the water. 

 

Dean had opened another faucet and cold water ran from it. Sam watched as Dean brought out towels and set them on the cushioned chair in the room, then went to get bath salts. Once he added them to the water, bubbles started to form and released a flowery scent into the air. 

 

Sam gave a nod of approval and walked in front of Dean and opened his arms wide. "I approve of the bath preparations and the scent is to my liking. You may undress me." 

 

"That's nice that you're ready. Nice that you like the scent, too. You go right ahead and stand there. _I'm_ getting in to enjoy the hot water." 

 

Dean stripped off his clothes and jumped in, sending bubbles flying. When his head re-emerged, suds slid down his hair and face and he grabbed his clothes and pulled them into the water and began washing them clean.

 

"You're not very good at this 'prince and his subjects' concept, are you?" Sighing, Sam walked to the edge of the bath, leaned down and took the wet clothes from Dean and put them on the floor. 

 

"Just you and me in there, please, gray water is not very inviting." He'd seen the clothes basins at the castle and the thought of communing with the filth that came off clothing was not appealing, not when he had other ideas on his mind. Having no other choice, he started to pull his clothes off.

 

Dean rolled his eyes. "Fine. I'll wash them after your tender royal ass is out of the water. And just letting you know, I'm not washing your clothes. You can wash them yourself." He watched Sam undressing, admittedly admiring his tan muscular body as it was revealed, and then started to clap. "How about that! You _do_ know how to undress yourself. I'm proud of you, Sir Sam."

 

"It's 'Highness' or 'Sam.' Not 'Sir,'" he answered somewhat tightly and very much unamused. But once he tossed his clothes down and noticed the way Dean was looking at him, he forgot that he'd been made fun of. 

 

"The benefit of undressing me would have been to touch me," he pointed out. "I mean without appearing to be simply touching me for the purpose of touching." Grinning at Dean's somewhat perplexed expression, he entered the tub, walking down the few steps and then sitting down. "Mmm, this is a clever apology, for freezing me with cold water and cool air baths. I accept."

 

"'Sir' is...it was my way to say you are a respected friend. Pain in the ass maybe, but friend. I didn't mean it as an insult. I thought 'Sir' was a title of respect," Dean said. He had no clue what Sam meant by the bath being an apology. "Is everyone as strange and baffling as you are?" Dean asked, as he started washing himself with a knotted collection of strips of cloth. 

 

"No, I’m special... one of a kind. You think of me as a mere friend?" Moving closer, he put a hand on the edge of the pool, on either side of Dean's body, essentially trapping him.

 

Dean stared into his hazel eyes, unsure. "I...uh, no?" he said. He wasn't sure how to classify Sam. He had only four categories to relate to. One friend: Sir Caleb. One person of power of and respect: the Wizard Azazel. Those he was not to speak to: Sir Caleb's associates. Those he was to kill: the unnatural beasts. "But I don't know what other words to use."

 

"No?" Leaning in, Sam slanted his mouth over Dean's and kissed him, pulling away when he felt Dean's lips start to part. "How about your heart? Or... your beloved?" He tested the words out, then cocked his head. "Or just... mine."

 

"Dream," Dean said, the word slipping out unbidden. "You are my dream." Dean ran his hands along Sam's sides, then slid them up along his chest. "My west. My watcher. My missing piece." He smiled and looked down to where his hands rested on Sam's chest. "I can feel your heart beating. I can feel you breathing." Meeting Sam's gaze again he said, "Close your eyes." 

 

Each endearment washed over Sam's soul, giving him a little peace where there had been turmoil before. "It beats only for you," he answered gravely, reluctant to close his eyes and look away from Dean for even a moment. Still, he complied with the request and let h his eyes to drift shut. Standing still, he treasured the feel of Dean's hand on his chest and the awareness of how close they stood. 

 

"You cannot understand," Dean said quietly as he slipped out from under Sam's arm, "what my life has been." He moved behind Sam, standing so close their bodies almost touched. "I've had no one to talk to or to listen to talk to me." He briefly put his hands over Sam's ears. "No one to touch." He ran his hands caressingly over Sam's back and the curve of his ass. "No one to touch me." Wrapping his arms around Sam's waist he pressed himself up against him. "No one to hold. No one to hold me." He turned his head and placed his ear against Sam's back, listening to his heartbeat. "This is like a dream but also, it also unnerves me."

 

He released Sam and stepped back from him. "Keep your eyes closed so you can see no one. Say anything that you want but know that no one will answer. Listen to the silence, and know that there is nothing to fill it. Imagine my presence, but imagine first that I am not here and I will never be. After you have found that world of silence and aloneness, make a count of eighteen. Do this for me now. Find that place. Try to grasp it. And then count." 

 

The slight touches, the slide of limbs against limbs, the press of Dean's face against his shoulder...Did the boy not know he was setting Sam on fire? Had he not listened when he'd warned him concentration was difficult when one or both of them were undressed? Apparently not! 

 

Sam did exactly as Dean asked, but only because Dean was so serious, and the picture that he painted of his lonely life, so sad. Sam had been lonely too, it was different when you were surrounded by people. He’d always had company, the laughter of friends, people to play tricks on to divert his mind, arms to fall into when he needed to blot out the cries of his soul longing for his other half. Forcing himself to imagine his friends... those who had kept him sane... were gone. Completely gone. There was no one to entertain him but himself. Not for just one day or two, but for years upon years. 

 

Sam reached out but Dean was too far, or he avoiding his hands. Dropping them, he started to count the years of Dean's solitary existence away, one by one.

 

Dean saw the shift of Sam's features when he imagined himself in Dean's place. When he saw Sam had reached 'eighteen' he said softly, "Keep your eyes closed for a bit longer. Wrap your arms around yourself. Don't touch me. Pretend you are still in that place. Do nothing but stand there."

 

Once Sam did as he asked, Dean began rubbing and caressing, licking and kissing Sam's body everywhere, speaking with each movement of his hand and mouth and body. "Everything I am about to say is the truth, not the truth that you think you know. The rat's scales are made of dirt and they bleed purple if you tickle its fifth and sixth feet. The bird burrows in the ground to find the fish that fly when the sun rises at night. A fish can fly very fast, so fast, you can barely see it and its howl is unnerving on the hot winter nights when the snow lies thick on the green ground, baking everything around it..."

 

Sam's blood was on fire. His cock was hard, aching for his other half. His body was sure of what he wanted, but his mind was a confused mess. Dean’s words made no sense. He turned them over and over in his head, hoping to make them fit in such a way that he would recognize them as an invitation, a request, a demand they kiss and touch and make love the way they ought to.

 

Dean kept up the nonsense talk and the rapid touches all over Sam's body for over a minute then suddenly fell silent and stepped away. After giving Sam a moment to gather himself, he said, "Do you understand now when I say, it’s too much? You must go slower? And why I have pulled away from you? You give my soul a peace it has never known, but my mind is confused and shaken and my body seeks your touches and then it is suddenly so overwhelmed by everything that I have no response for you but to step away and beg you give me time to catch my breath and grasp it all."

 

Dean's sudden withdrawal almost physically pained Sam, who opened his eyes and tried to hide the reproach in his own. Dean didn't know what he was doing, he thought he was teaching a lesson, showing him. He would bet Dean was unaware he was causing pain.

 

His nostrils flared as he struggled to contain his feelings. To bite back the demands that threatened to spill out of his mouth. "I don't mean to scare you. I've waited all my life for this, a little longer won't... won't harm me," he said stiffly. When Dean would have come toward him, he gave the boy a warning look. "Don't touch me now."

 

He washed quickly and efficiently, despite the lack of a servant or honored aid to help him. Trying to concentrate on anything other than Dean was practically impossible. If the boy hadn't touched him as he had, he could have enjoyed the bath and perhaps stopped at a kiss or two. Now... Almost stiffly, he got out of the bath, aware that even the most innocent eyes could not miss the state of his arousal. 

 

Bending, he lifted the large towel and started drying himself. "Do not even think of cold water." He tried to inject humor into the situation, even though for once his humor had abandoned him.

 

Dean couldn't be sure if Sam understood or not. What he had done had obviously upset Sam and when he saw how hard Sam was when he got out of the bath, Dean felt guilt. He had washed himself when Sam did so he was done as well, or mostly so. Dean climbed out and grabbed his own towel and dried himself. "Of course not. You've shown me cold water is the wrong thing to do."

 

Dean dropped the towel in front of Sam, got down on his knees, and put his hands on Sam's hips just as Sam had done to him. Without hesitation, Dean replicated what Sam had done for him, leaning in and putting his lips lightly on the side of Sam's very stiff cock. He prided himself on being a fast learner.

 

"Oh God..." Sam groaned, held still for a moment longer, savoring the feel of Dean's glorious lips against his cock. When he saw Dean's tongue, he pulled away with another groan. "Ngh... no." If anything could make a grown man cry, it was his split-apart, apparently. Seeing the hurt in his love's expression, Sam shook his head. "You said I am... that I'm too much for you right now. This, I want this, your mouth on me so badly, so very badly. Believe this, if you believe nothing else. But it's not all that I want, and I'm too... I'm too hard to stop when you might want me to, I won't be able to stop." He put it in terms he hoped Dean could understand. "When the hardness is no longer upon me, you can touch me again. I don't want to hurt you," he reiterated, moving further away and starting to dress.

 

"No, your clothes are dirty. Go upstairs, put on something clean," Dean said quietly, standing up. "I'll wash your clothes. I don't..." he felt like he was five all over again, unable to do anything right. Not strong enough to lift the sword, unable to cook a meal for Sir Caleb without burning it, waking Sir Caleb up with screams from nightmares, unable to read most of the manuscripts when Sir Caleb demanded him to. "I'll do better. I won't ask you to stop anymore. It was selfish of me, Highness," Dean said, hanging his head. "I'm not good at explaining things. Please, let me wash your clothes. You can go check on the tarts."

 

"No. I believe you were perfectly clear in your explanation. I'm the one who seems unable to express himself in such a way that you understand me." Unable to discuss the matter further when every last nerve in his body was screaming for those lips to touch him again, when he wanted more than anything to tell Dean to get back on his knees, Sam pulled his trousers on but left the shirt for Dean to wash.

 

As he headed up the spiral stairs, he realized he got no satisfaction from being called by his proper title. No, he much preferred his split-apart when Dean argued with him or challenged him. It might irritate him when he did so, but it also thrilled him and amused him and felt right. Far more right than the sudden air of complete submission.

 

Upstairs, he did what went against his grain. He checked on the damned tarts and finding them ready, even took the baking tray off the fire. Of course he justified it by promising himself a few tarts, while they were still hot. Taking a bite of one, he looked toward the stairs. Cursing under his breath, he set the tart down and simply stood by the shuttered window, waiting.

 

Dean got back in the hot bath and quickly washed the clothes then thoroughly rinsed them under the cold water faucet before squeezing them as dry as possible. He climbed up two floors, hung the towels on the clothes line, and then slid the clothes drying contraption he had made into the chimney. The flappers began to spin from the rising hot air and that caused the fan blades to turn, blowing air on the clothes. He walked back down to his room. Seeing that Sam had taken the tarts out of the fire he walked over to the wardrobe and pulled out some fresh clothes. He dressed and then brought a clean shirt over to the prince and saw Sam had taken but one bite of a tart.

 

"Were the tarts not to your liking?" Dean asked as he set the shirt down beside Sam then went to grab a still warm tart for himself.

 

"They're delicious. I was just waiting for you." He pulled the shirt on then tossed the chair cushions onto the floor. Taking his plate, he Sam on the floor and leaned back against one of the cushions, enjoying the warmth from the fire. "Come. Sit with me. I miss you already." He let that truth hang between them, hoping he hadn't hurt Dean's feelings so deeply that Dean would refuse.

 

Giving Sam a smile, Dean sat down beside him. "No one has ever missed me before, except maybe the birds," he said as he took a bite of the tart. "Mmm, these came out good. I'm not supposed to, but sometimes I put bread crumbs out in the morning and the birds come. Sir Caleb said birds flying about all the time might draw attention to me. I used to put bread out every morning. One day, Sir Caleb came and I didn't but the crumbs out. The birds were upset and tweeting and fluttering about demanding their breakfast. He beat me for disobeying his orders." Dean paused. "I didn't put bread out for a long time after that." After eating a few more bites of his tarts he asked, "What is it like for you? Where you live?"

 

Sam had been smiling at the image in his mind of birds circling around Dean as he fed them but quickly looked down, hooding his eyes to prevent Dean from seeing the flash of anger at the thought of one innocent and lonely child beaten for wanting the company of birds. He took a moment to gather himself before looking back at Dean. 

 

"The world is a big, big place. A hundred thousand times bigger than what you can see out the window is just our kingdom. You know in the distance, where you see all the green? The trees and the mountains covered with grass? That's how it looks. With towns and cities." Though Dean knew the words, Sam explained what those types of places looked like and the numbers of people he could expect to see.

 

"My favorite time of year is now. Every town has festivals for the new year. Pipers and drummers march in parades, dancers and mimes, too. There's plenty of ale and mead that gets passed around, and in the late hours, the most tightly clenched-together thighs seem to magically relax and open..." He cleared his throat and quickly moved on before that comment got him more questions. 

 

Sam spoke about flower petals being thrown in celebration and coins showered on the ground for children to collect. "Then, on the eve of the new year, there are fireworks at the castle and the courtyard doors are opened so the people can come inside."

 

"I can't imagine every tree as a person. I can't imagine that much life," Dean said. "It must be a very big courtyard to let all those people in at once. Fireworks? Are those the lights in the sky to the south that I see on my birthday?" Dean asked, getting more tarts for them both.

 

"I don't think so," Sam answered, taking the tarts. He described fireworks and the vibrant colors that would splash against the velvet night skies. "It may not be visible from here," he said.

 

"No, what I see are yellow white lights that pour up into the sky like fireflies," Dean said. "It's beautiful. I would like to see them up close one day and see what they are. But brilliant splashes of color? That sounds fabulous. Maybe I'll try to paint them. I have the firefly lights painted," he waved to a corner of the room, "over there. I've often wondered if they might be gigantic fireflies the size of dragons. Would you like some strong fruit juice? I have some left. It makes you feel very relaxed." 

 

Giving a nod to the offer of a drink, Sam mused, "like giant fireflies... maybe they're flying lanterns? I know of some kingdoms which celebrate occasions by releasing them into the night." Accepting the cup and waiting for Dean to settle down next to him, Sam took a sip of the fruit juice, his eyebrows climbing up as he realized it was liquor. 

 

Watching as Dean brought another cup to his own mouth, Sam smiled. "For someone who has been so isolated, you are very inventive. You're the epitome of the human spirit." He took the cup back and took another drink, then set it down.

 

Sam hardly noticed time passing as he answered Dean's questions about the outside world, ate and drank. It was strange, being so at peace when he knew there were soldiers camped outside, that some of them would be left behind to keep Dean inside the tower and to keep himself from finding the tower. It was said that being close to your split-apart helped you to think clearer and gave you calm, and now he understood what that meant. Yesterday, he had a fire burning inside him, one that made him want to visit every tavern, sample everything female and male and drink everyone under the table. Now... now he didn't need that anymore. Everything he needed he had, right here.

 

Dean was enthralled by Sam's animated answers and the way, if it was obvious Dean didn't understand, that Sam went to great pains to help him understand at least as much as he could. The questions fairly bubbled out of him, as if he were speaking to some omnipotent soul with all the answers to the universe and Dean was taking advantage of every second of the attention. He was equally amazed how at peace he felt, all his restlessness gone. He had lived in the towers, never content but knowing he had no other choice so he simply focused all his restless yearnings on training, on learning everything in the manuscripts, of picking apart every nuance in the few books he had, and on painting when that failed. He wouldn't say he had been dissatisfied with his life, but he had never been happy, not really. Basking in Sam's presence, he felt like everything had changed. Now he wanted nothing more than to be with Sam.

 

As he spoke, Dean’s gaze was drawn to Dean’s finger. As he watched Dean lick it clean of jam and cuck on the pad of his index finger for just a moment longer, a low grade heat started to coils in his loans. He was vaguely aware another question had been put to him, but had no idea what it was or the proper answer. Instead, a small glob of jam and a few crumbs on the corner of Dean's mouth, had his complete attention. Naturally, it was his obligation to get rid of the distraction....

 

Rolling toward Dean and bracing his elbow on the cushion, he hovered over Dean's mouth. The nearness without touching made his own lips ache and burn. With two small sweeps of his tongue, he cleaned off the jam but found himself unable to just pull away. Rubbing his mouth gently back and forth against Dean's lips, he found this wasn't enough, it didn't satisfy but merely made his yearning sharper.   
Cupping the side of Dean's face, he rubbed his thumb over the corner of his mouth where he'd licked him. "Let me inside." It was a pained plea even if given in the form of a demand. "Let me kiss you," he said again, slowly crushing his mouth over Dean's.

 

Having seen Sam's focus on his lips, Dean wasn't really surprised when Sam leaned in. Then Sam was kissing him and Dean simply let himself be swept away by the feelings. This time when Sam asked for Dean to let him in, he understood and opened his mouth. He responded to Sam tit for tat. If Sam began to ratchet up the intensity, so did Dean. When Sam's attentions turned more gentle, Dean matched it. He let Sam teach him and guide him as they kissed. When Sam began to open his shirt, Dean whispered against his lips. "Is this love?"

 

Sam was sliding his palm along Dean's chiseled abs and was about to plunge his tongue into that sweet, hot mouth of his, to start another round of mind numbing kisses when Dean's innocent question stopped him. He panted against Dean's lips, trying to find the right words. 

 

"When your body is burning, when you need to be touched, to be kissed, when you get hard and you no longer think straight, it's _lust_. When you heart yearns for someone, only one person, when you feel they are your other half, it's _love_. If your body burns for the one that you love, it's ... it's a _miracle_. And when that other person who you love is your split-apart, then it's magical, it’s _fate_ and impossible to fight. It's complicated,” he acknowledged, “but the simple answer is that I love you. _Kiss me. Burn for me. Love me._ " His whispered demands were punctuated by desperate kisses and fevered, possessive touches all over Dean's body.

 

Dean listened, wanting so much to know and understand. Sam's pleas cut through to his soul. He burned, wanting Sam, wanting to be one with Sam. Wrapping his arms tightly around Sam's waist, he rose, bringing them both to their feet. 

 

Sam wanted to be kissed so Dean slanted his mouth over Sam's and used everything Sam had shown him to kiss the man breathless. Weaving his tongue in and out of Sam's mouth, their tongues battling for dominance, he walked Sam backwards toward the bed as his hands busied themselves caressing the man and working him free of his clothing. In the bath he had whipped up Sam's desire into a frenzy. He did this now, paying close attention to when Sam responded most to where and how he touched. 

 

Stripping Sam free of his shirt, he felt Sam’s strong reactions to having his nipples caressed. Shoving Sam back onto the bed, Dean crawled on top of him, and leaned in, licking across one of Sam's nipples and then kissing and sucking it. While he worked on Sam's nipples he loosened the ties of Sam's pants. His heart pounded as he felt Sam writhing and moaning beneath him. 

 

Dean straightened, took hold of Sam's pants and tugged them down and off. Quickly he divested himself of his own clothes then, without warning, he pushed Sam's legs apart and his mouth was on Sam's cock.

 

It was like one of his dreams come true and Sam couldn't, wouldn't fight this, despite the shrill reminder in the back of his head that Dean had plead for time, for him to go slow. He could justify this, could tell himself that he would maintain control, that he'd allow Dean to explore, to let Dean give him whatever Dean was comfortable with, and that he wouldn't ask or badger him for more. And yet he wasn't sure he could do any of those things. Already his hand was on the back of Dean's head, urging him to give him more, more sweeps of that hot wet tongue along his hardening cock, more pressure, more of his maddeningly innocent touches.

 

Groaning, Sam pulled his knees up, planting his feet flat on the bed and raising his hips. "oh God... oh God Dean, please... please don't stop, please," he chanted, his eyes glazing over and staring at the high ceilings, at the paintings representing himself ... his eyes. "I am your west, you are my east... my everything," he rasped as he was slowly consumed by need.

 

"I won’t," Dean said. Sir Caleb told him this was wrong and dangerous, an illness, but Sam had shown him what pleasure it could bring. He wanted to return that pleasure to the man who had given him that gift, who had shown him the truth, who soothed the agonizing loneliness inside him while at the same time stoking a fire he had never before felt. He struggled to recall the things Sam had done while tending to his hardness. Licking and giving pressure, stroking and sucking, those were the things that had made it so amazing. 

 

After licking his own hand he wrapped it around Sam's cock, Dean began to slide it up and down as he took Dean’s tip into his mouth and sucked gently. He experimented, tonguing the slit to taste the salty perfection of Sam's essence, rolling his tongue around the crown, sucking it in deeper and then pulling off only to take it back in his mouth. Recalling how it had felt to have Sam finger his sac, he pulled off again, investigating Sam's balls with his tongue, toying with them and sucking them into his mouth, exploring them with his tongue.

 

A thousand rolls in the hay with other people could not and did not prepare Sam for this moment with Dean. It barely mattered how Dean touched or licked him, every stroke of his hand, every sweep of his tongue, every hot rush of breath across Sam's flesh instantly drew reactions from Sam. Every muscle in his body tensed and flexed as intense sensations ripped through him. He closed one hand around the bedpost, the other he kept on Dean's head, playing with his hair and sometimes caressing his neck and shoulders. 

 

Sounds and words broke from deep within his throat. Instructions. Pleas. Words of encouragement. His mind was a haze of pleasure, his body an instrument for Dean to play. Then Dean was sucking up and down along the length of his cock and Sam thought he was going to die of pleasure. "Yes... yes... Dean..." Heat surged to his groin so fast Sam almost had no time to warn. "Coming," he said sitting up suddenly and grabbing both sides of Dean's face and pulling him up just as his cum started to spill.

 

Dean was startled to be pulled away from Sam's cock. He continued to stroke him, watching his face and listening to his moans until Sam's member grew soft in his hand. "I don't understand. You drank mine. Why did you prevent me from taking yours?" Dean asked, wondering if maybe there was some illness that could result from drinking it.

 

Another soft moan left Sam's lips, then he let out a deep breath and rested his hands on Dean's shoulder. "Didn't want to... to choke you," he fought for air and licked his breath. "Didn't like the taste my first time," he also admitted. "But it was good Dean, so good, I... like ... fireflies in the sky good."

 

Running a finger through Sam's cum, Dean brought it to his mouth and licked it clean. "Tastes fine," he confirmed. It was a little odd tasting, and he had to keep forcing himself to remember it wasn't some sort of infection, but it wasn't offensive. He leaned down and swiped his tongue through the liquid coating Sam's stomach. "Mmm, no, think I could get used to it," Dean said, grinning up at Sam.

 

He crawled up Sam's body and kissed him. "You've brought the hardening on me again. Is there more? To being with one another? I feel like...like there is something more and I don't know how to ask for it, or do it." He ran his hand over Sam's chest, smiling when his fingers brushing over Sam's nipple got a reaction from the man. 

 

Arms closed around Dean, Sam slowly lowered down to the bed, chuckling softly when he realized Dean was enjoying his involuntary reactions. "There's more." He slid his knee between Dean's legs and pressed his thigh up rhythmically against Dean's cock. "Shift your body, your legs to what is comfortable and ride my leg he suggested." As soon as Dean's breaths started to grow a bit harsher, Sam started to turn to the side despite Dean's whimpered protest. "Shshsh, now you can ride me like this," he said thickly, his own gut clenching when he felt Dean's knees move closer and his body pressed between each of his powerful thighs.

 

Dean felt his leaking cock slicken Sam's thigh as he rubbed his cock against that warm skin. He pressed down harder, wanting more pressure. "Feels...ngh...good...but not...enough," Dean said as he pumped faster. He remembered sliding in and out of Sam's mouth and that was all it took, imagining his cock being in that wet heat. He felt his balls tighten and his cum spewed up Sam's side.

 

"Maybe was enough," Dean panted, smirking at Sam.

 

Rolling Dean onto his back, Sam braced his weight on his elbows and looked down into his face, grinning back. "There's no maybe about it, unless..." Reaching down, he gently squeezed Dean's softening cock, milking it completely dry. 

 

“There are a thousand ways we can do this, there's no list, no set ways. You can be as inventive as you want. How we touch, or how we don't touch. How we tease. What we say or don't, what we think. So many factors. We have the rest of our lives together to explore the ways in which you and I like to do this together, for each other. If you don't understand fully now, you will." Bending, he kissed Dean squarely on the mouth, tangling their tongues together before pulling away. "Are you sure you've never done this before?" he demanded in mock disbelief. 

 

"Not even in my dreams," Dean said with a sigh. "But you are a good teacher I think. Who taught you?"

 

"Am I? Maybe you should try me again, just to be sure." Lips curved into a smile, he kissed Dean again, sure he'd never get enough. Only when they both ran out of air did he roll onto his back and look over at Dean. "Practice and time. I'll give you all the practice you want, I swear it."

 

Dean hungrily accepted Sam's kiss. He wanted this, wanted Sam to be with him always. He couldn't get enough of touching Sam. He wanted to explore every inch of the man, find every way he could touch Sam that made Sam react to him. "I guess I'll just have to try to do some extra training to get all caught up with you," he said, running his hand over Sam's abs. "I never knew I was dying of hunger, until I tasted you." He tried hard to forget that there was no way for him to leave these towers. Maybe Sam would stay with him. If not...no, he wasn't sure he could ever be satisfied with this life again.

 

"Maybe that's a blessing, that you didn't know. I knew, and so I ate and ate, and yet I was never full... I knew I would be unless I found you." A soft sound escaped him as Dean continued to explore the contours of his body. "I could kill your Sir Caleb though, not only for this... your imprisonment, but for compounding matters by telling you lies about your body. Making you suffer when you could have at least alleviated some of it on your own. Everyone involved in this conspiracy to keep you from me will pay. Especially Azazel."

 

"I didn't know I was suffering," Dean said simply. "Sometimes when I dreamed I would awaken to find I had...spilled the white fluid. Otherwise, I am quite accustomed to an invigorating icy shower in the morning. I am not used to options." Since he knew Sam liked it, he began to follow his exploring hand with his mouth and tongue. "But why the conspiracy?"

 

"Bear in mind my peccadillo, hmm?" From the way Dean acted, Sam knew he was in for a lifetime of Dean torturing him ... expecting him to think straight and answer questions when he was making love or being touched. 

 

Mindlessly, Sam slid his middle finger into the depths of Dean's mouth, his eyes closing as he felt the slight suction from Dean sucking on it. "At first I thought maybe Azazel thought he was somehow protecting the crown by forcing me to choose a woman. Split-aparts do not choose others, and maybe he thought if he hid you away and I was forced to select a princess, then there were would be continuity. A woman can bear my child. But when you said they took your nails and hair and blood and mentioned Meg... He didn't do any of this for the crown, he... oh God, what are you doing to me?" His vision blurred as Dean scraped his tongue over his nipple and then sucked on it lightly. 

 

"You aren't very good at doing more than one thing at once are you?" Dean said, then sucked harder on Sam's nipple. "I believe I am trying to bring the hardening sickness upon you again. I like seeing you writhe and undulate. I like the sounds you make." After continuing the teasing a bit longer he paused. "So Azazel didn't do it for the crown? Then why did he do it?"

 

"I'm excellent at doing more than one thing... _except this_ ," Sam rolled his head back, biting his lower lip as a pleasure and pain pulsed through him. It was clear Dean was having fun, so he let him, not that San wasn't enjoying himself as well. "Then lay down on me, I might move and writhe just like you like." He sucked his breath in, then realized he was expected to keep talking. "Ah... Meg's his daughter. If he has a way of making her feel like you... to me, making her irresistible, like you said. Then he's betting I'll choose Meg. Then his daughter would be my queen once the crown is passed onto me. He gets rid of my parents and me, and then he has the kingdom in his palm. Speaking of palms..." Grabbing Dean's wrist, he brought Dean's hand over his cock. “Ahh yeah...” His eyes widened when Dean released him all too quickly.

 

"Roll over," Dean demanded. He hadn't yet had the chance to explore Sam's backside, not the way he wanted. He pulled Sam up onto all fours so he could stroke his cock. "Is there a law against keeping split-aparts from meeting?" Dean asked as his fingers trailed over Sam's back. He had felt his own spine, seen spines of beasts, but to have a chance to run his fingers along the spine and shoulder blades, to suck on tempting sections of flesh, Dean soon found heat beginning to assault his groin once again.

 

Arching, Sam moaned softly as sensations assaulted him from all sides. The slide of Dean's hands on him, the flicking of his tongue and the wet heat of his mouth sending searing heat through his veins. His scent, now so familiar to Sam he would never forget it, making Sam yearn to bury his face in Dean's throat, to draw his scent with each breath. "You... you propose to talk about law. Right now?" he said shakily, turning his head to look over his shoulder.

 

Dean couldn't help but laugh at the look on Sam's face. "Too much?" He pressed his burgeoning cock against Sam's ass. "Maybe afterward," he said, moaning softly as he rubbed against Sam. "I like this, you on your hands and knees and me wrapped around you." 

 

Curling over Sam's back, Dean pressed as much flesh against Sam as he could, straining forward so they could kiss. 

 

Yes, yes Sam liked it, liked Dean like this ... experimenting, touching Sam, wanting to try things out... what was there not to like? As they kissed, Sam shifted his body until he felt Dean's cock dip into the cleft of his ass. He started to squeeze his ass cheeks together around Dean's length, pressing back and bumping against Dean's body each time. God, he would never tire of all the ways they could touch and play. It was a good thing his split apart was lusty too, this was one thing they wouldn't argue about, he was sure of it now. "Like this. Like you. Love you, Dean," he muttered between long kisses.

 

The way Sam clenched against his cock had Dean groaning. He re-situated his cock so it slid between Sam's legs. He found if he thrust forward he could put pressure on his tip by pushing against Sam's balls. "Mmm, nice," Dean murmured into Sam's ear. He began to rock, thrusting forward each time Sam thrust back. It took him a few times before he figured out when best to stroke Sam's cock but after a few erratic attempts, he caught the rhythm and began thrusting and stroking in earnest.

 

"You _sure_ you've never done this? Sam panted, first tortured by Dean's too brief touches as he tried to figure things out, then by the searing heat inching through his veins when Dean got it right. Just right. "You've got a wicked imagination, then." Dropping his head down, he pushed back, soft sounds breaking from him each time Dean thrust, his rock hard cock hitting and sliding past Sam's aching balls. He tightened his inner thighs, trying to give Dean some pressure, then he balanced on one hand and reached under his cock with his other. Closing his fist around Dean's cock, he concentrated on moving with him, fucking Dean's hand as Dean fucked his. "How does that feel?" he asked.

 

"Imagination, yeah," Dean agreed, not sure he did, but he seemed to be making Sam happy and there was no doubt he was enjoying it. When Sam clenched his thighs, Dean gave a moan of approval. He was ill-prepared to suddenly have Sam's hand around his cock and groaned his approval. He suddenly had sympathy for making Sam talk earlier as all connections between his brain and mouth short-circuited. He could only give grunts and sounds of approval. 

 

The short answers coupled with the sounds being pulled from Dean told Sam what he needed to know. That should have been enough but the need for a little fun revenge couldn't be squelched, not even by the fact he was probably as close to coming apart as was Dean. "Are you sure this is alright? I don't want to hurt you. If you like, I could move my wrist, or do you prefer a stable steady stroke?" There was a pause as a shudder of pleasure went through him. "Or... fuck... want me to give you pressure on your tip? Talk to me."

 

Dean bit into Sam's shoulder as he pistoned into the warm slick channel made by Sam's hand. "Ungh...good...it's good. Just as...yeah, good," Dean finally managed to get out, not at all certain he was even understandable. He pumped faster, his whole body feeling waves of pleasure like he had never known before meeting Sam. 

 

"N-Now," he said, his balls tightening. "Sam!" he cried out, muffling his lover's name in the flesh of Sam's shoulder.

 

"Yes," Sam answered, his head rearing back slightly as he thrust repeatedly into Dean's hand and felt the familiar tightening of his balls. The sensation of sticky wet heat splattering through his fingers as Dean came pushed Sam over the edge, making him come hot and hard while crying out Dean's name, saying it over and over as they both rode out their orgasm. 

 

His arm was shaking from the strain of bearing the weight of his entire body and holding himself steady with Dean acting much as a battering ram from behind him. Now Sam collapsed onto the bed, loving how Dean's weight fell on him, pressing him into the mattress. "Did you break skin?" He grinned, adding a wicked,"my wildcat in bed."

 

"Better I break skin than those below hear us," Dean mumbled. He felt his eyes beginning to drift close. "You, me, together. Always," he said, kissing where he had bitten Sam. He hadn't broken the skin, but only barely. He laid his head on Sam's shoulder and didn't fight the exhaustion he felt in his very core except to pull a blanket over their sweaty bodies.

 

"Mmm." Agreeing and too comfortable to move, Sam closed his eyes and started imagining their lives together.

 

* * *

 

When morning came, Dean slipped out of bed without waking Sam. He checked out the balcony and saw that Sir Caleb and his men were up and preparing to leave. He stirred the fire and got breakfast going, then tended to pissing and taking a quick bath. After Sam had his bath, he'd empty the bathing pool and refill it so it would have fresh water for the evening bath. 

 

Dressed, he returned to his quarters and checked on breakfast. Since Sam seemed to like sweet things, he had some sweet rolls baking and was cooking up some oatmeal. He cut up some fresh fruit for the oatmeal along with some spices and honey. He hoped Sam would like the meal. Sir Caleb had restocked the stores, so he had some salted pork if Sam declared he wanted meat instead of what he’d prepared.

 

The smell of food was tantalizing but at the same time irked Sam. This had to be dirty trick to get him up early after a long hard night of drinking and carousing. He made a growling sound and tried to bury his face deeper under the blankets but then his stomach gave an echoing growl and all of a sudden he was too hungry to ignore that gnawing feeling in his stomach. "Get the piss pot, then my clothes." Eyes closed tight, he rolled to the edge of the bed, found that he didn't have his night clothes on, gripped his cock and rolling a little more so it was aimed to the ground, he muttered, "tell me when the pot's in place."

 

Dean looked over at Sam and rolled his eyes. "Piss on my floor and I'll make you clean it up," Dean told him. "The piss pot is by the side of the bed. Open your eyes and you'll see it. Don't make me get the bucket of cold water to wake you up."

 

"Hmm? Bobby?" Making a face, Sam forced his eyes open and saw Dean giving him a scathing look. "No... no water, I'm good," he quickly said, sitting up and giving Dean a wide, dimpled grin. "You're not a dream. Not a product of too much wine or firewater. Not a figment of my imagination. _It's good to be me_."

 

Dean felt his heart just kind of flip-flop at the dimples and brilliant smile. He was stirring the oatmeal and the spoon slipped from his fingers as he stared at Sam. He felt a blush crawl up his face and turned his head away, refocusing on breakfast and grabbing the spoon. "Breakfast is ready if you want it now, or you can take a quick morning bath. Release the water so that we can refill it tonight for our evening bath.”

 

Seeing Dean's cheeks redden, Sam chuckled. Standing up, Sam used the piss pot but looked over his shoulder at his lover. "I'll bathe quickly, then have a bit of 'you' before breakfast, hmm? And I wouldn't bother with filling the tub ever again, I must be back home before the New Year's festivities, and I won't leave you behind."

 

"A bit of me?" Dean asked curiously. He frowned at Sam saying he wouldn't leave him behind. Sam would discover soon enough that he had no choice. "Would you like me to get you your shirt?"

 

"You can dress me when I get back." Walking up behind Dean, Sam leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth, then walked away humming a happy tune. Yesterday had been bleak, and then it had been filled with question marks. Today, he had his answer, and it was Dean. He glanced up at the paintings of his own eyes on the ceiling and walked down the stairs to the next level. 

 

As he bathed quickly, at times Sam imagined it was Dean's hands on him, washing him. Just the thought of his split-apart's touches sent tendrils of need through his system. It was, perhaps, wiser not to play this game when an entire floor separated him from Dean. Though he didn't want to think on it too hard, he suspected shouting at Dean to get down here would work about as well as telling him to bring the piss pot or dress him. Not that it made it any less likely that Sam would try his demands.

 

Washing the soap off, he stepped out of the pool and dried himself with a towel, and wrapped it about his waist. Then he used Dean's sharp shaving knife and scraped away his stubble. Putting a bit of tooth powder onto the edge of a small washcloth, he took care of his teeth. Next, he searched for scented water, but was unable to find any. 

 

By the time he came back upstairs, he was fully awake. "Why the long face? Is it because what I gave you was a poor excuse for a kiss? Come, I'll make up to you now," Sam said, spreading his arms wide. "There's nothing better than a bit of honey before breakfast, is there?"

 

Dean had retrieved the dry clothes and after making the bed, laid Sam's clothes out for him. He had paced restlessly while Sam was gone, eating one of the sweet rolls while he waited. He didn't want Sam to go. He could chain him up again, but he suspected Sam wouldn't take well at all to that idea. 

 

"My face isn't any longer now than it's ever been," Dean said, furrowing his brow, but crossing to Sam. "Why would you want honey before breakfast? It goes with breakfast. Or is honey had before a meal as some sort of tradition? The honey is already on the table."

 

"Not that kind of honey," Sam answered, his voice lowering and going velvety soft as he tugged Dean closer and brought him up hard against his body. Closing his arms around Dean, he slanted his mouth across the boy's but didn't quite touch him yet. "The sweeter kind. You. My sweetest honey," he added, putting one hand behind Dean's head and finally welding their mouths together. 

 

It had been mere hours, but Samuel remembered too well all the loneliness, the longing, the need to find Dean, to hold him and taste him as he was doing now. It made Sam’s hunger sharper, perhaps made his love stronger, but one thing was for sure, it made him more determined than ever not to be parted from Dean ever again. 

 

Dean wasn't quite certain how he felt about being called honey. He assumed it was a compliment or an endearment of some kind, so he decided not to take offense. He loved honey, after all, and Sam's kisses were sweet to him, as sweet as honey...and then his brain sort of shut down as Sam began to kiss him.

 

 _More._ That was all Dean could think of as Sam's tongue slid into his mouth. He wrapped his arms around Sam's body and felt his own cock growing hard. It was like a dream, a dream he never wanted to wake up from.

 

As Sam moved his tongue in and out of Dean's mouth, he molded his lover closer, moaning as he felt the hard swell of his cock against his hip. With each long stride, he walked Dean backwards until Dean's back was pressed against the wall. Sliding his hand between their bodies, he tugged on the towel and let it drop to the floor, then pushed his bare thigh between Dean's legs, pressing it against his arousal even as he rubbed his own hard cock against his lover. As they kissed and murmured against each others' lips, he enjoyed the sensations washing over him. Need, desire, love, all of it pulsing through him for one man alone. His search was over.

 

Breaking the kiss and putting his hands flat on the wall on either side of Dean but still pressing rhythmically against him, and grinding his thigh against Dean's cock, he looked intently into Dean's eyes. "I want to kiss every part of you, from your head, to your ears, to that spot right under you belly button..." He didn't know whether Dean was aware how much he writhed each time Sam touched him right there. "... to your feet. I want to worship every inch of you. I want to teach you so many things. So many ways to show each other our love. I want to learn from you the places your imagination will take us. I want to know if you like it better when I drop down in front of you to suck your cock, or when I'm behind you and you can't see me and don't know when I'll touch you. I want to know if you like to be free to thrash, or prefer to be held still when you're loved and fucked and tasted. All these things, I cannot wait to find out."

 

"I don't know either," Dean answered frankly. He pressed himself against Sam's thigh, groaning as he felt himself grow harder and harder. "I want to know these things about you, too. And I want to know about all the things I've read tales of. Like what a woman looks like. What tickling is. I want to see a river, sail in boat. Dance. Music. Everything. There are so many things..." Dean's words faded as Sam increased the pace of the pressure. Dean slanted his mouth over Sam's and began kissing him, increasing in fervor as his need spiraled higher. 

 

As Dean started to move more erratically against him, Sam closed his arms around Dean, wrists crossed behind Dean's back, hands on his ass as he lifted him closer and fucked against him as hard as he could. They kissed each other feverishly, their tongues moving in and out of each others' mouths. Dean's moans... the way his fingers dug into Sam's back and shoulders... the way he clung and hung on like he'd never let go had Sam wanting to give him more, to give him the world. He'd decided to keep some things for their marriage bed, for when he could prepare Dean properly, but he could put a few thoughts into his innocent other's head and make him come as hard as he had last night.

 

Kissing him hard one last time, he set Dean down and released him. Stepping slightly away, he started to unfasten Dean's trousers. "Maybe you shouldn't keep such treasures behind a barricade of clothes, hidden from me," he said with a forced chuckle. Shoving the material down to the floor, he helped Dean step out of them. Now they were both stark naked, each taking in the other's form, their eyes hungry for one another. 

 

Leaning in, Sam stroked Dean's cock a few times with one hand, and his own with the other. "Take over. Hold us together," he suggested, loving the flush that had crawled up Dean's cheeks.

 

Hesitantly Dean reached out to caress Sam's cock and began stroking it. His own was crying for a return of stimulation so he used his other hand to begin to stroke his own. Sam's hands began to slide along his muscular back. His eyes widened a little when he felt Sam's fingers slip down along his crack to his hole.

 

"What...what are you doing?" Dean asked, unsure why Sam would putting his fingers there instead of playing with his nipples or investigating other parts of his body.

 

"Because I want to love you. _Every_ part of you. Yes, even here." He slid his fingers up and down at a slow pace, sometimes using his index finger to trace Dean's puckered hole, lingering over the sensitive area and then moving on. He bent his head and kissed his way up Dean's throat, sliding his tongue over Dean's parted lips and pulling back. Shifting his body, he aligned their cocks, holding them together with his large hand partially covering Dean's hands. "Together," he said, showing him how good it felt to stroke both cocks at the same time, to feel each others' cocks providing some of the pressure.

 

Once Dean found the rhythm, Sam started to kiss and suck his flesh, his nipple, his throat, sometimes kissing him. Always, he made sure to sweep his hand down, play with Dean's balls, and then moved back to tease his hole. Before he knew it, Dean was pushing back, unconsciously seeking penetration. He moved his thumb over Dean's hole and pressed slightly, hardly getting the pad of his finger pushed in. They moved together, just like that, until he started feeling the pressure build low in his belly. Plastering his body against Dean's, he started to rub and fuck against him, in his hand, against his body and cock, Dean's similar motions telling him they were both close. He moved his mouth over Dean's ear and whispered, "One day, you'll let me put my tongue inside you. Here," he said, pressing Dean's hole with his thumb.

 

Dean felt lost in the strong sensations rolling through his body. He forced himself not to pull away, to accept these overwhelming feelings and embrace them. It felt good, it felt magical but there was just so much sensitivity everywhere it almost hurt. Sam's hand at his hole added a whole new layer of amazing feelings. He wasn't sure what he wanted from Sam, but he knew he wanted something _more_. Then Sam whispered in his ear. If he wasn't already so close to exploding he would have demanded of Sam to do it now. Sam had shown him pleasure, need, and desire like he had never known. He thought it was strange, surely, but Sam hadn't been wrong yet. 

 

"Whenever you want," Dean managed to pant out as he rubbed furiously against Sam, stroking them both hard and fast. So good, it all felt so damned good. He felt his balls tighten and the come exploded from him, coating their stomachs as he groaned loudly in relief and pleasure.

 

"Always. Want. You. Dean!" Sam would have shouted his lover’s name were it not for the guards below as he came with Dean, groaning as he felt the spray of hot cum across his stomach. He kept rolling his hips, slowing his motions as the furious storm within him eased. 

Fitting their mouths together, he kissed Dean soundly as he walked backwards toward the stairs. "I've never had to wash up so many times. Now's your chance to... dress me." As soon as the words left his lips, Sam released Dean and swiftly ran to the stairs to avoid a slug, only to feel a wind at his back, turn, and find Dean sliding bare-assed down the banister, ahead of him.


	5. Chapter 5

Samuel held Dean's hand as they walked down the spiral stairs, squeezing it a little tighter as they passed the last point where Dean had put a mural on the wall. They'd probably gone down about 200 stairs and Sam felt Dean slow down. Turning around, Sam started to walk backwards down the stairs, his hand outstretched and still holding Dean's. "I will never leave you here alone. Believe me. Believe in me."

 

Dean gave a small smile, wishing it were true. He didn't want Sam to leave and for a moment his mind went to the shackles in his room. He couldn't do that to Sam though. He couldn't be that selfish. "I know you don't want to. But I know you're not going to have a choice. I can't leave the towers. Just...just promise you'll come visit."

 

"I will not leave you here." Sam’s jaw jutted out, his eyes challenging Dean to contradict him again.

 

"Sam..." Dean blew out a breath of frustration. "You'll see soon enough. It's not far now."

 

The words were hardly out of Dean's mouth when Sam saw Dean slam into an invisible wall. If he hadn't seen it, if Dean had refused to be tugged and had only stopped, he might not have believed it. But he'd seen Dean's nose get pressed back and his clothes shift against a force. Sam pulled again, his jaw tensing when Dean could not follow.

 

Seeing Dean's eyes shine with unshed tears, Sam walked up two stairs and locked gazes with Dean. "I'm going to leave now, but will have you out of here, I promise you. Not in years, not in months or weeks, not even days. I will have you out in the time that the sand pours through that hourglass you have in your room. I swear it."

 

Dean pulled Sam into a kiss, wanting to believe, but it was simply beyond his realm of experience. It was cold, hard fact. He could not leave. He put all his love and desire into the kiss, refusing to break the kiss until he was light-headed with the need to breathe.

 

"Whatever happens...it's okay," Dean said, pulling back to stare into the hazel eyes from his dreams, brushing back a lock of Sam's hair. "Be careful of the guards out there. Just...be careful." He let loose of Sam's hand and gave him a brave smile, barely keeping his tears at bay. "Go on."

 

Samuel gave him a nod, giving a lopsided grin as he backed down the stairs and gesturing dramatically with his hands, hoping to turn that sad smile into one that came from the heart. "Never fear, Prince Samuel is here. A man among men, a hero for all time, a lover with the unsurpassed ability to...erm... love, a man with a very, very rational fear of ... of the greatest weapon invented, the skillet..." He continued giving Dean a list of his positive attributes until he reached a tunnel and went silent as he headed for the door that Dean told him about.

 

Dean smiled more sincerely when Sam mentioned the skillet. But once Sam disappeared from view and his voice fell silent, he was suddenly unable to hold back his tears. Feeling more alone than he ever had before, Dean began to climb the stairs back to his room, already wondering if this had been nothing but a very intense, very long dream.

 

*

 

Once Samuel pushed the door open and stepped out, he looked at the base of the tower, his brow wrinkling. Though he had the door completely open, he couldn't see it. Using the tip of the sword Dean had lent him, he etched a mark onto the wall surface to be sure he could find his way back if necessary. Then he crept around the tower and saw the two men in leather armor. They were sitting on the ground and laughing and badmouthing Sir Caleb himself. They seemed to be deep into their cups, which would only make it easier for Sam.

 

Gripping the sword firmly, Sam rushed toward the man with his back to him. The one sitting in front of the man raised his face up, his expression going from amusement to horror just as Sam's booted foot slammed into the other man back. He used the man's back, pushing off it as a springboard, and slammed the hilt of his sword into the other one's stomach as he was catapulted into him. He heard the distinct sound of the man's air forced out of his lungs. Then they began to fight in earnest.

 

Well, the two soldiers fought in earnest. Sam decided to have a bit of fun and did not want them dead anyway.

 

He wished there was music, or at least fiddlers and drummers who could give sound effects each time the soldiers fell on their asses. He wished Bobby could see him now, then he'd know that Sam hadn't 'wasted away his years mixing it up with thieves and scoundrels for naught.'" Thanks to years of fighting with and against drunkards and louts, he could walk on a narrow table backwards and fight the best of them, most especially when betting was involved, and he could make it all look like a dance.

 

Sam looked up at the balcony between the two towers and spotted Dean looking down. Grinning at him as he avoided a wildly swinging sword, he called out. "Ever seen a man make an ass of himself? Would you like to see it?" Moving swiftly out of the way of one of the soldiers about to head-butt him, Sam whacked him on the ass with his sword, moving his wrist very subtly so when the man straightened, part of his pants fell off his ass.

 

Dean had almost been afraid to look down, afraid there would be nothing there and it would only prove he had been dreaming or was perhaps going mad from loneliness. He saw Sam though and his heart soared. He laughed and clapped when the guard's pants fell off, grinning down at Sam.

 

"There's nothing like an appreciative audience, nothing. By the way, my good man, should you find yourself completely without clothes, I suggest you do not ask Dean to dress you. It's one skill he is lacking in." As he spoke, Sam avoided the other soldier, then managed to quickly move almost between them and knocked their heads together. "No..." he put a finger on his chin, "two heads are not always better than one. But two asses, on the other hand...."

 

A few maneuvers later, both men had their faces to the ground and their asses sticking up in the air. "Hmm, maybe not." Sam made short work of the first man's pants, laughing as the man tried to hold the material together. Lifting his eyes up to the tower, he met Dean’s gaze. "You're dying to know whether this one has the 'hardening illness,' aren't you?"

"Unless he's got one that’s as huge as a horse’s, I don't think I could tell from up here," Dean called down, but was definitely enjoying the show Sam was putting on for him. "But if he does, I could dump some cold water over the side to help him out."

 

"The... what disease?" The soldier appeared baffled and afraid.

 

"The hardening disease, have you not heard of it?" Sam asked, pushing the now unmoving man down on top of the other one. "When you look at me, don't you... harden in all the right place?"

 

"I don't..."

 

"Strange. He must be daft," Sam concluded, "Say goodnight to them, Dean." A split second later, he'd knocked each man out with a well-aimed fist to the chin.

 

Giving an exaggerated bow to Dean, he disappeared between the towers.

 

"Wait! Sam! Where are you going?" Dean cried out, leaning out over the balcony, trying to see the man who haunted his dreams.

 

Minutes later, Sam found the hidden crag in the wall he'd discovered the night before. He pushed on it, then all but ran back and looked up. Dean was up on the bridge between the two towers looking down searching for him. "Dean, Dean, let down your hair," he called out, grinning at the blank look from his split-apart. Apparently fairy-tales were not on Dean’s bookshelf. His grin widened as the tangle of vines crawled faster and faster up the height of the tower. "Do you know how to climb, or would you like me to come up there and carry you down?" he teased.

 

"Don't you think I've tried to climb down before using ropes?" Dean said. "It's just like the stairs."

 

He jumped to the balcony and went over to the edge, looking down at Sam. Walking to the side of the balcony he touched the vines, stroking the greenery. He saw Sam approach the vines and reach out, grabbing hold of them. Golden light shot up the vines; suddenly the glowing vines were growing, tendrils reaching out and wrapping around Dean's wrists. Letting go with a cry of shock, Dean tried to tug away. His wrists glowed and a blinding light blossomed. Dean found himself released by the vines. He stared at his bare wrists; the 'birthmarks' that had once encircled his wrists were gone.

 

"Sam! Sam!" Dean cried out happily and looked over the balcony. "The marks are gone! I'm free! I know I am! I can feel it! Wait, I'll be down, give me a moment!"

 

Dean grabbed the pack Sam had insisted he put together even when Dean told him he couldn't leave. He slung it over his shoulder, his two plants wrapped carefully in bags hanging on the outside of the pack, and dashed back out to the balcony. He grabbed hold of the vines and began descending, the vines glowing gold everywhere his hands and feet touched them. He had never before been able to even hang below the balcony, the invisible barrier preventing his descent, but now he was halfway down the tower! He laughed as he hurried down the twisted vines.

 

Dropping the last few feet to the ground, he found himself being swung around by Sam and kissed senseless.

 

As soon as he set Dean down, Sam gave a mock pained look and a slight groan. "You are not as light as a feather and..." Before he could complain anymore, Dean was kissing him again and all thoughts flew from his head. "That... is not called fair play," he muttered. "Now let's get these scoundrels into the tower so they will be here when the Royal Guard comes for them. We'll want witnesses as to Azazel's and ‘Sir Caleb's’ roles."

 

Dean saw one of the men was beginning to stir. He strode across the ground, pulling the skillet free from his pack, and thwacked him back to unconsciousness. The other man still seemed to be out. "There are plenty of cells where Sir Caleb would keep the beasts."

 

He helped Sam move the men into the tunnel but when they reached the archway where the stairs started, he stopped dead. "I...I don't...what if I can't get back out?" Dean asked tentatively.

 

"Stay here," Sam agreed. He might be a risk taker, but he was not risking Dean. Grabbing the first man by the boots, he started to drag him up the stairs. "Never mind about his head, it's very thick. I should know," he called out. Right after the first set of stairs, but below the point where Dean had been able to get to when he was imprisoned, he found a door, kicked it open, and sure enough there were a few cells inside. The stench had him making a face and wanting to get out of there as soon as possible.

 

By the time Sam came back out, he'd tossed some foodstuffs and empty pisspots into the cells. Pulling the hidden door shut, he deactivated the vines, not wanting to alert the enemy that Dean had been rescued.

 

"Come on," he walked up to Dean and started to lead him to the soldiers' horses, at the same time putting his thumb and index finger in his mouth to give a shrill whistle. The ground started to thunder and he gave a satisfied smile. "Which of these two horses do you wish to ride?"

 

Dean stared at the horses. The only live animals he had ever touched were birds. Even rodents had not found their way into the tower, likely due to the magicks Azazel had used. He didn't consider the beasts he slew to count.

 

"Whichever you think I should," Dean said, not approaching either of the animals. If these were beasts to be slain he would pull out his sword and stride ahead boldly. These were not though and he frankly had no idea how to deal with them. He wanted to reach out and touch them, see what their hides felt like, but he held himself back, waiting for guidance from Sam.

 

That was when the cloud dust in the distance cleared and Maximus slowed to a trot. The large white stallion came up to them and butted Sam in the ass. Then it started to inspect Dean from head to foot.

 

"Dean this is the stallion that has the honor of being--" another head-butt, much harder this time, had the prince backtracking. "This is my steed, Maximus. He's a bit confused and thinks he owns me. As for these two," he patted the neck of one of the horses. "Take the brown one. I'll help you up, you ride astride," he said, knowing Dean might know this in principle. One look at his face though, and he could see Dean had doubts, that he perhaps feared the horses. He put a reassuring hand on Dean's back as Maximus decided to re-inspect Dean.

 

"Hello, Maximus," Dean said politely as the stallion sniffed him over, wondering if the horse bit and if it had sharp fanged teeth like many of the beasts he had killed. With Sam's hand on his back giving him comfort, he walked up to the brown horse. He inspected the saddle for a minute, not wanting his lover to think him a coward or an idiot.

 

"I think I can do this on my own," he told Sam and put his foot in the stirrup and grabbed the saddle, starting to pull himself up only to have the horse move and he ended up falling onto his ass. The saddle now sat crookedly on the horse's back.

 

Getting up, Dean felt his face flush as he brushed his ass off. He tried to straighten the saddle but the horse shied away from him. "I do not think this one likes me. I don't suppose a skillet would work on it to calm it down would it?"

 

Sam winced but said nothing when Dean fell, then winced again at Dean's suggestion. "It might... it might ... but wait! Then it won't be able to walk," he added quickly before Dean retrieved his deadly weapon. "Shshsh," he told the horse as he approached and straightened the saddle. But just as he was about he was to help Dean up, the animal turned and tried to kick. Sam pulled Dean back. "These horses must be as evil as their masters. Ride with me. You in front," he clarified. Still seeing the trepidation in Dean's eyes, he put his own foot into the stirrup and threw his leg over Maximus' wide back. Holding the reins in one hand, offered his other to Dean.

 

Dean handed up his pack which Sam tied behind him. Dean then took hold of Sam's hand and jumped up. Sam helped him get his leg over and Dean settled, leaning back against Sam. When the horse began moving, Dean clutched at the saddle, stiffening, afraid he would fall off.

 

Closing an arm around Dean, Sam allowed Maximus to go very slowly for a while. "You'll get used to it, don't worry. If you were fearlessly performing acrobatics on the tower bridge, horse riding shouldn't be half as scary."

 

"The tower doesn't have ironclad hooves and teeth, and besides, I couldn't actually fall very far, no lower than the upper windows or the balcony. And the tower didn't move," Dean pointed out.

 

When they'd gone a little distance, Sam pulled on the reins, turning Maximus around to allow Dean to see the tower and the desolate lands surrounding it.

"This place is... it's uninhabited. That's why they chose it. I would seal them all, entomb them in there, if I didn't think we might want to use it as a private place to get away from the palace. There are a lot of places we could go to but... part of your life is here. And those gorgeous, wonderful eyes you've painted everywhere." It made a world-wise man like himself giddy to know Dean had painted him... his eyes... over and over.

 

Dean stared back at the place that had been the only home he had ever known and the land he had seen from the towers and dreamed someday of walking across. "I will paint eyes in my new home," he promised. He twisted his head and gave Sam a quick kiss. "Let's go, before Sir Caleb comes back. I've new lands to see. We can go faster now," he said with a nod. He wasn't going to be held back by his fears. Sam's arm around his waist gave him all the confidence he needed.

 

Pulling the reins to one side, Sam made a clicking noise and Maximus immediately responded. Sam held onto Dean a little tighter. "We're going into a gallop, there'll be more movement. Try to feel as one with the horse, follow the movements of my body. The first time is always a thrill you'll never forget." Digging his heels lightly into Maximus' sides, he leaned forward and soon, they were at a gallop. He could not wait to leave this wasteland behind to show Dean things he'd never seen.

 

Dean didn't know what to expect but the horse picked up speed, its gait changing. It took him a few minutes to get the feel and balance but with Sam behind him, holding him, he quickly adjusted and first began to smile and then grin. "Faster!" he laughed, feeling the wind on his face.

 

"You really should say 'faster, ride me harder, harder," Sam whispered, knowing very well Dean would have no idea what he was talking about, but complying and riding harder to get him home.

 

*

 

When the landscape changed and they'd traveled through far greener lands, Dean had insisted they stop. From atop his horse Sam had watched Dean touch the grass, the bark of the trees, and the leaves of every plant within reach. He was everywhere at once, like a child taken to the coast to see the ocean for the first time. His happiness was catching and had Sam laughing along with him.

 

Sam had pointed to a dandelion. "Bring that to me," he’d said. When Dean did, he blew on it, and grinned as the white plant feathered around Dean's surprised face.

 

When they reached a town Dean was oohing and ahhing and pointing and asking questions faster than Sam could answer.

"We'll go to the tavern and have a drink, let Maximus rest," Sam suggested. "Try some very powerful 'fruit juice.'" Dismounting, he helped Dean down and hit Maximus on the rear. "Stay within earshot, we won't be staying long."

 

The singing was loud and became louder with each step they took, and louder yet when they pushed the wooden door open and entered the tavern. Long tables flanked by benches were laden with large mugs and pitchers. Rough men and pretty wenches ate, drank, and made merry.

 

Samuel had to drag Dean to the bar and mention twice that keeping one's mouth open was an invitation to flies. Just as he was about to order, the buxomness wench behind the counter grabbed Sam by the shoulders and pulled him in as she leaned forward to plant a kiss on his lips.

 

Right before her mouth touched his, Sam turned his face and kissed her cheek.

 

"Severus..." she pouted.

 

It was the name he used when he was incognito. "I am... taken now," he said, eyeing Dean. "This is Helen. A woman."

 

"Is he blind or are you calling me manly?" she demanded, crossing her arms over her decidedly unmanly chest.

 

"Hello, Miss Helen," Dean said, bowing slightly, and pulling Sam back so she couldn't try to kiss him again. He didn't like the idea of anyone else kissing Sam, but knew it was a typical greeting between men and women who knew each other, if his books were accurate. "I am not blind, but you are the first woman I have ever been introduced to. You are very beautiful. Do all women have long hair and large chests? And your voice is much higher than any I have heard. It's pretty," Dean said, trying to remember how a woman should be addressed. Flattery, he knew was a good thing. He couldn't take his eyes off of her, noticing every detail of her narrow face and fine features, plump lips, and the way her clothes exaggerated her breasts. And what a narrow waist! He leaned over the bar to look down further. He had never seen anyone wearing something other than pants before and wondered at the waste of all that material.

 

"What have we here? A virgin?" She giggled and lifted her skirts up to her knees, "have a look then, dearie. Anything more will cost you half a silver piece."

 

"Since when do you charge?" Sam demanded out of pure curiosity.

 

"Since you brought a virgin. It's me that'll be doing all the work, isn't it, luv? Pretty as he is," she added, running her hand along the side of Dean's face.

 

Sam stiffened. "Two glasses of wine. Your sweetest, for Dean."

 

"I am not a virgin," Dean said. He took her hand and pulled her close, kissing her the way Sam had shown him.

 

"And a double firewater for me," Sam added, glaring as he watched Dean lean so far over the damned bar top he was going to fall over it. Not that Helen was complaining. She'd wound her arms around Dean's shoulder and was moaning away.

 

"Enough." Gripping Dean's arm, he pulled him back. "Stop looking dazed... our drinks," he snapped at Helen. "And some savory meats."

 

Once she'd moved away, he trained his gaze on Dean. "Now that you've sowed your wild seeds with a woman, know that your lips are only mine from here on."

 

"That is sowing seeds?" Dean asked curiously. He then looked concerned. "Does that mean she will have a child by me? I didn't realize it was so...easy...to make children."

 

"No, no... it's a figure of speech. You've now had a merry old time with a woman and you're ready to settle down with your chosen. That would be me," he supplied. "Which would also mean you will stop your merry ways with...others. Drink." He shoved one of the goblets of wine Helen had brought over to Dean.

 

"But I've had no merry ways with any while you have sampled many. I have never even seen a woman naked. You said they are different than my drawings," Dean said, taking the goblet, studying the cup a minute then sniffing the liquid before taking a sip. His eyes widened. "This is much better than my strong fruit drink. I like it. And that is fire-water?" he asked, looking at the second cup Helen had set down for Sam. "Should it not be aflame?"

 

"The flame lights up in the belly. And...since my sampling is in the past, so is yours. I will show you dozens, hundreds of paintings of naked women. You won't have missed out on anything, I promise." Just as he made the promise, he followed Dean's gaze to a couple. A woman sat on a man's lap and was whispering in his ear while the man was groping her breasts. He cupped Dean's chin, dragged his face toward himself. "A thousand pictures."

 

Dean gave him a small scowl that he quickly hid. "Yes, Sir Sam," he said, not trying to pull free. He didn't want anyone but Sam, but he would have liked to have seen real flesh, not more pictures, not more imaginings that he could never completely be sure of.

 

"It's not Sir. It’s Highness, Sam, or in this place, Sev or Severus. Come on, smile for me. You don't really want to kiss and touch and have your way with strangers, not now that you've found me and I've found you," Sam said, giving Dean a burning hot look. "Surely no one will set you on fire like I can."

 

Dean liked the way Sam was looking at him, liked it a lot but felt a bit as if he had left the command of Sir Caleb only to be under the command of Sam. "Of course not, Highness," Dean said, but his eyes didn't return the heat in Sam's, nor did he smile. He couldn't help but wonder if Sam too would keep him in a tower.

 

A muscle pulsed in Sam's jaw. He took up his cup of firewater and drank it, giving an "ahh" as it burned all the way down. Then he looked at Dean again, and no, there was still no smile for him. No excitement in his eyes. No sense of camaraderie nor any acknowledgement of their profound bond. It was a little like losing Dean, though Sam thought he was probably being a bit dramatic. "I liked it better when you spoke your mind, in the tower."

 

"You wish to know my mind? If you and I are split-aparts, then why do you fear another would set me on fire as you do? Why do you fear my interest in seeing and feeling a woman? My life has only been books and the only one to have ever touched me or held me has been you, except for the occasional pat on the shoulder by Sir Caleb. I have never touched another's body, anywhere, since I was six or seven, until you. Sir Caleb forbade me from touching him. I was his inferior he said and he said it was inappropriate to shake his hand or slap him on the shoulder or hug him. All I have ever had are my imaginings." Dean looked down into his cup of wine. "I had hoped for more from you," he added softly then finished off the wine. "May I have some firewater to try now?" he asked and reached for the meats Helen had brought and set on the table. "I would like to feel fire in my belly, but I am disappointed you did not breathe smoke or flame after drinking your firewater."

 

"I am not afraid of that! I'm... I... it makes me jealous, and I don't like it." Samuel wanted to be angry, to rail at Dean, but how could he when Dean had in a few words not only shown him the horror of his lonely upbringing but, without giving voice to it, shown him his own doubts. If he lacked experience, if he'd never touched another, if he knew no one else, then how could he decide Samuel was the one for him?

 

Samuel's spirit, his very soul rebelled against the notions stirred up by Dean, but he couldn't discount them completely. Not when he'd bedded hundreds before he'd found his split-apart and one kiss, one lusty night together was proof for him that Dean was the right one, that all others paled in comparison. What if they committed to each other forever, and then Dean continued to be plagued with questions, wanting to know what it would be like with others?

 

"You ah... wish to cavort with others and sow more seeds," he said, forcing the words past clenched teeth. "Fine. We will stop at three other taverns before we reach the castle." Picking up the cup of firewater, he downed it, his eyes tearing up from suppressing his cough. "You're free to do what you want. Sample the ladies and gents, decide for yourself." Digging into a little pouch he'd tied to his belt, he spilled some gold and silver on the bar top. "You'll find spending coin makes you a lot more... popular … and will get you invitations to see the 'upstairs.'"

 

He slapped the bar top with his palm and got Helen's attention. "Three more firewaters. One for Dean." Lord help him, he would need to drink himself into a stupor to allow this.

 

Dean took hold of Sam's shoulder and turned Sam to face him. He wrapped his arms around Sam and kissed him with all the passion Sam filled him with. "I am only curious," he finally whispered into Sam's ear. "How can I understand this bond between us and how special is it, when I've had no other? Thank you for this."

 

After releasing Sam, Dean watched the other patrons of the bar, the interaction between the men and the wenches. He quickly realized that some women would not join the men, no matter the man or the coaxing. Some took up with newcomers, and some watched the patrons like predators. None of the men drew Dean's attention. All were rough and unshaven and reminded Dean too much of Sir Caleb and his men. A blond woman, young, probably among the most delicate looking in the place, caught his eye. She was delivering ale and food to tables and deftly avoiding groping hands in the process. When her tray was empty, Dean pushed himself away from the bar and approached her.

 

"May I speak with you, Miss?" Dean asked.

 

Giving him a suspicious look, she gave a curt nod.

 

"My name is Dean."

 

"Sarah," she said, watching him with her pale blue eyes.

 

"I have never seen a woman before this day. I have only experienced the touch of my split-apart." He nodded toward Sam. "I find you pretty and I would like to spend perhaps an hour with you. Would you do me the honor of accompanying me for said hour?"

 

"That, I must say, is the most original line I've ever heard," she said. "Sorry. I'm working." She turned, tossing her long curly hair over her shoulder.

 

"I could compensate you for the time you are not working."

 

She turned back and glared at him. "I may be a barmaid but I do not bed the customers," she snapped. "When I've enough coin to leave this place, I shall."

 

"I too have been forced to stay where I did not wish to. I understand," Dean said. "How much coin are you in need of?"

 

She laughed bitterly. "More than I shall ever earn and keep my virtue."

 

Dean took hold of her wrist and led her over to Sam and picked up five pieces of gold and pressed them into her hand. "I do not wish your virtue. I wish only to touch and see you. If you do not wish for me to do something, you need only say so. You may keep the gold whether you say yay or nay. It is my gift, from one former prisoner to another."

 

She stared at Dean and the large amount of coin in her hand. "Nay, then."

 

Dean nodded once and gave a small bow. "I wish you well then, Miss Sarah. May that help you find what you seek."

 

The barmaid slid the gold between her breasts and collected the next order of ale to deliver. Dean sighed and studied the other women. After a short time he shook his head. No other really caught his interest. He was about to suggest to Sam they move on to the next tavern when Sarah returned.

 

"You will truly stop if I say stop? And you will not try to take my virtue?" she asked tentatively.

 

"I...I do not actually know what constitutes a woman's virtue," Dean said honestly. "Yes, you've my word." He glanced at Sam and gave him a fond smile. "I understand how important it can be to ask your partner to stop and he does."

 

She drew in a long breath. "Then yes."

 

Dean beamed at her, kissed Sam lightly on the lips, and let her lead him upstairs.

Sam was practically unresponsive, trying to keep his mind occupied with thoughts about how that gold had been enough to buy several horses. He'd rather think about that than what Dean and the tavern wench would be up to abovestairs.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean and the barmaid returned downstairs in an hour. His hair was wet and he smelled fresh and clean. After scanning the crowd, he spotted Sam sulking at the bar. Giving the barmaid a kiss on the cheek and a bow, he strode over to Sam. Before his lover knew he was there, Dean stole Sam's firewater, downed it and he wrapped his arm around Sam's waist. "Women are very different from men," he said. "Are you ready to go to the next tavern?"

 

"You bathed." Samuel stiffly looked over his shoulder at the wench who seemed much too happy. Then at Dean who was hold him but also appeared far too happy. He was _not_ going to ask what took place behind closed doors. He was not. Leaving a few coins for the many drinks he'd downed, he stood up, searched Dean's face and forced a smile. "Of course. Two more taverns."

 

"Yes. She was nervous. I suggested perhaps if she were to let me bathe her it would satisfy my curiosity to see her and touch her. She has never been with a man and was also curious so bathed me in return. We talked a great deal. She told me many things of her life and her dreams. She showed me how a woman is pleasured and I showed her how you have pleasured me." Dean walked outside with Sam, running his hand over the scarred wooden door and stone of the tavern wall as they left. 

 

"She explained to me about a woman's virtue and she wanted hers to remain intact for marriage, saved only for the man she falls in love with to take and sample. Do men breach each other as a man breaches a woman? I know we've but one place to breach. If so, have you still your virtue?" Dean asked. Since Sam had been with so many, he knew the answer would surely be 'no' but he wanted to ask all the same...just in case.

 

"I keep my virtue elsewhere, and it is intact," Samuel answered after thinking for a moment. "Or it was until I met you." He whistled for Maximus, and then steadied the horse as he waited to see if Dean wanted help or would try to mount on his own. 

 

Dean's eyebrows went up. "Is there a place of virtue you haven't yet shown me that only men have?" He attempted to mount twice before he finally figured out the right leverage and balance to get himself into the saddle. He pulled his foot free of the stirrup so Sam could use it. He figured if he tried to help Sam up they would both end up on the ground. He reached out and stroked his hand over the horse's neck and combed his fingers through some of the tangled mane in front of him.

 

"I don't know about other men, but my place of virtue is my heart. Everything else..." He put his foot into the stirrup and mounted up behind Dean. "Is quite plowed over." It had to be the firewater because the chuckle he gave was as real as his amusement, despite the fact that the honeyed scent coming from Dean's freshly washed hair was a reminder of an hour his lover had spent in the company of another.

 

Clicking his tongue, he relaxed slightly, pulled the rein to one side and had them heading toward the well-traveled road.

 

Dean leaned back against Sam and sighed contentedly.

 

They were on the road a few hours before reaching the next small village. Along the way, Dean convinced Sam to let him take the reins to Maximus and to teach him how to guide and ride a horse. "Do we stop here?" Dean asked.

 

"Mayhaps too many stops will tire you, you bring up a good point. We could ride straight to the castle and get you introduced. I like the idea." Resting his chin on Dean's shoulder, he said, "you are brilliant." He lightly dug his heels into Maximus' sides. The horse took a few steps, then reared slightly and backed up. "Maximus, Dean would like to go straight to the castle..."

 

"No, Maximus," Dean said. "We stop here," he lightly pulling on the reins and twisted his head to look back at Sam. "First you say three more taverns, then two. Now none? You have seen this world. I have not. I am not anxious to step inside another tower, at least not until I have seen a bit more." He jabbed Sam in the ribs. "I'm going to step inside the tavern and quench my thirst. You coming?" 

 

"Of course I'm coming, I was only doing what I thought you'd want!" What Sam really wanted to do was storm off, or better yet, take his split-apart with him. However, he also wanted a peaceful life, and if it meant a bit of suffering now, he might as well pay the price. Dropping to the ground, he helped Dean down. 

 

"You should have firewater, we both will." Maybe a few cups would make Dean sleepy or put him in a state where he'd slur so badly no one would--who was he kidding? Between the coin and Dean's good looks, it wouldn't be difficult for him to find someone to engage in bed sports, even if he were half blind with drunkenness.

 

Dean grinned at Sam. "You're cute when you're jealous. I hear music inside, better music than the last tavern. Show me how to dance." He grabbed Sam's hand and dragged him toward the door.

 

"I'm not jealous, not when it's my hand you're crushing." The Fiddling Cat had an excellent fiddler or three. There was a large, man-sized fireplace blazing and the tables had been pushed aside. Men and women hopped and danced, twirling around with their arms around each other, then then they switched partners. There was a lot of laughter and they were celebrating as if it was one of the pre-New Year festivals.

 

"Watch. You stand in front of someone. Hop onto your right foot, then your left, then your right again. Stomp your right foot. Two steps toward your partner, bow. One arm across their waist and turn to the right three times, then put your hand out and grasp the hand of your next partner." 

 

Standing near the wall, Sam practiced with Dean a few times. "And don't hold the men too tightly, not all men enjoy male intimate contact with males." Remembering the few times he'd had pots and vases broken over his head when he was incognito, he added, "You should be careful with the women, too."

 

Dean nodded, ready to dive in. Sam showed him how to join the dance and soon Dean was stepping and bowing and twirling with everyone. Every time he and Sam ended up clutching hands, pure electricity went through him. The look in Sam's eyes, on his face, it all made Dean's heart beat a little faster. One or two of the other men he danced with gave him looks, but those looks did nothing for him and he found his gaze drifting over to wherever Sam was at the moment. As soon as the dance ended Dean walked over to Sam and pulled him away from the woman he was talking with.

 

"I only want you. I've decided. I'm happy. Just you." He kissed Sam, devouring his mouth, feeling the electricity between them like lightning in a raging storm. When he finally had to break away to gasp in a breath, he said, "The sooner we go, the sooner we are together, yes?" 

 

Sam automatically put his arm across Dean's back, molding him closer like a vice. He was surprised by Dean's sudden change of mind. He'd been preparing himself for another bout of anxiety as he watched Dean leave for private quarters with someone, perhaps even one of the men whose gaze had lingered too long on Dean's lips. 

 

"We're together now, the moment you say the word. I have no doubts. None," he whispered, running his hand down Dean's face. The fact that the man who had stared too hard at Dean was watching made the moment doubly sweet.

 

"Miss Sarah told me how lucky I was to have a split-apart and how magical it must be between us. I look into the faces of these others and I do not see _it_. I see their happiness in dancing, in drinking, but I do not see that look that I see in your eyes. Not just raw desire, but love and devotion and kindness. There is not the lightning vibrating through my very soul with any of these people, and I know in my heart there never would be. They are but pale shadows next to you, my dream incarnate. I do not need to sample anyone else's lips, or touch anyone else's body. You are enough. You are everything I will ever need and desire." He captured Sam's hand and kissed it. "Let us risk nothing else, Sir Caleb coming after us or the wizard discovering my freedom. Let us go to your castle. Now."

 

"Yes, yes and yes," Sam said between kisses, the weight of worry now lifting from his shoulders. "Let us get some water, we have quite a ways to go."

 

* * *

 

Hours later, they were at the town gates. The instant Samuel announced himself, the gates were opened and despite the late hour, a fuss was made of Sam's safe return. God above was thanked, the ground was kissed by many, but Sam drew the line at being carried to the castle. A few people kept glancing at Dean but no questions were asked.

 

The clip clops of Maximus’ proud stride were louder on the cobbled streets and echoed off the stone walls. "Here, you can find the best bread in the kingdom," Sam said as they passed a bakery, "and tarts almost as good as yours. There, in that square, we have market days twice a week, and a bigger market once a month. "That's the..."

 

He pointed to his favorite haunts as they approached the well-lit castle. Torches flickered along its walls and the glow of warm firelight was visible from the windows. Veering around from the courtyard, he took them toward the stables. "Let us hope my father is asleep, but if there is a lot of shouting, do not worry."

 

Dean was glad the hour was so late, but even so, the streets seemed filled with people. There were so many buildings, such diverse designs and the cobbled streets, just like from one of his books. He listened attentively to all of Sam's descriptions and tried to memorize each place Sam pointed out. The castle was _huge_ as far as Dean was concerned. He gaped at it. How many people must live in it, he wondered.

 

"What...what will my position be? Where will I live? What will I do?" Dean didn't like it when Sir Caleb shouted at him. He did not like being locked up in the small cell until Sir Caleb felt he had learned his lesson and would not repeat whatever mistake he had made. He wondered if Sam's father would do the same. He wanted to have answers for the man if the man demanded such answers from him.

 

"You'll live in the castle, with me of course," Sam replied, stunned at the question. The moment they entered the stable, a stable hand came to help, to lead Maximus away, handing Sam the pack on the saddle before doing so. Sam handed Dean's belongings to him. As always, Sam ignored the 'your Highness' this and that’s. "You will be Prince Dean. Maybe someday, King. It will depend on whether I can take the crown or not." He gave a careless shrug. "And you will do whatever you please. Paint. Read. Learn to ride. There are dozens of tutors on every subject, war strategy, magical beasts, fair laws... ugh, as I said, too many tutors."

 

Just as they walked into the kitchen entrance, a way quite familiar to Sam, Bobby came barreling toward them.

 

"There you are you scoundrel--"

 

Samuel sighed. "Why does no one listen... it's 'Your Majesty' to you..."

 

"Not when your father is threatening to put my neck on the chopping block if you're not found and--" Bobby stopped short and looked at Dean. Then he looked at Samuel. Then back at Dean.

 

"It's not what you think--"

 

"Oh no. You know the rules, you are to keep your bits o' muslin and your..." he waved his hand toward Dean, "manfun... outside the castle. Are you trying to--"

 

"Kill you? No." Samuel pulled Dean close and kissed him on the mouth. "Dean stays. In my room, with me, until I introduce him to mother and father tomorrow."

 

"You _are_ trying to kill me. You can't bring your side bit here when the castle is full of hopefuls. No one will want you starting off your marriage like this!"

 

"Why is this a bad way to start off a marriage? Hopefuls for what?" Dean asked, unsure if he really wanted to draw any more of the stranger’s disdainful attention.

 

Bobby gave Dean a glare then turned back to the prince. "More princesses have arrived to meet with you, Samuel! Even our southern neighbors have brought their daughter. Since their eldest's 18th birthday is approaching and her brother has never been found, they are looking to cement relationships more firmly with those around them. It would be a very _good_ match for the kingdom and she's very good looking. Even has those jade green eyes you go on about."

 

"Sam's already taken," Dean said firmly, stepping between Sam and Bobby, his hand dropping to his sword. "And we will be married as soon as Sam says."

 

"And Sam says 'very, very soon.’" The Prince wrapped an arm around Dean's waist, both as a sign of affection and to prevent him from attacking the old family retainer. "Don't worry about Bobby, his bark is louder than his bite."

 

"I'll show you bite..." Bobby growled, following them up the stairs and putting his hand out to stop them from walking until he checked the wide hall and allowed them to pass. Without saying so, he was ushering them to Sam's chambers and hoping they wouldn't be seen. 

 

As they walked down yet another long hallway, Samuel smiled when Dean stopped in front of a large painting of himself and his parents. "Don't worry, they'll love you too once they know you," he whispered, ignoring Bobby's snort of disbelief. 

 

They turned a corner and Sam told Dean, "This is my wing. My chambers," he pointed to three doors. "Game room. Study. And... what was that room for, Bobby, I don't remember." He frowned.

 

"Contemplating your vanity. It's the commode, you idj... you're Highness."

 

"Ha hah." Grabbing Dean by the arm, Samuel whisked him into his large bedchamber which had connecting doors to two additional rooms. There was a sitting area, complete with settee and tables and on the other side of the room was his large curtained bed. "Come, look out the window," Sam said, striding to the large windows that looked down onto the castle gardens that were lit up with lanterns. Servants were sweeping and cleaning away the remains of the evening’s party. 

 

Dean was still feeling a bit overwhelmed by the city, the people, the castle, and then Sam's room was huge. He followed Sam over to the window and looked out. He stared at the beauty before him.

 

"This is the first time I have looked out a window and not seen the desolate lands around my tower. I half-expected to see the twisted old tree out on the hillside that takes on ominous forms at night. This...this is hard for me to wrap my head around," Dean admitted. "I keep waiting to wake up but I do not think you can be so bone tired in a dream. My legs ache from riding, and so does my back. I am hungry and smell of Maximus. No offense to Maximus, but horses smell...horsey. Can we put something on the fire for dinner and bathe?"

 

"You want a third bath in one day?!" Sam's eyebrows rose. The thought that another bath would mean the blonde's scent would be washed off Dean had Sam agreeing quickly enough. Walking to the bell pull, he tugged on it, ringing the bell.

 

The door to his room opened and a servant walked in. Beyond the door, he saw another one 'guarding' the wing, probably to make sure Sam didn't disappear again. "Have a bath drawn, our meals brought up afterwards, and send in the piss pot handlers. We've been on a long journey," he said.

 

He was still giving additional orders when two young men came in holding big silver pots. One of them knelt in front of Sam, next to the bed, and the other in front of Dean, holding the pot up to about the level of Dean's knees. "Should I have someone unfasten your pants?" Sam asked.

 

"You have got to be kidding," Dean said looking at the youth. Remembering Sam's outlandish orders at the towers, he knew it wasn't a joke. "Put the pot on the ground. I don't need someone to catch my piss. I am a more than able man with good aim."

 

The surprised youth did and Dean took care of business. Picking up the pot, Dean handed it to the youth. "Thank you."

 

Turning to look at Sam he shook his head. "We gotta get one thing straight, Sam. I'm not a sick weakling who can't take care of my own piss, bathe myself, dress myself, feed myself, or anything else any self-respecting man should be able to do by the time they're four. You aren't either. I don't care if these people think it's an honor or some such crap. It stops." 

 

Sam was already comfortably pissing and turned in surprise. Luckily, the lad moved quickly with him and caught every drop of the royal piss. "Neither one of you heard this conversation, it did not happen," Sam told the servants. Their "ayes," made it clear they understood he was talking to them. "You just said you were tired, but if you want to fill the bath, I won't stop you. Be prepared for six trips down to carry water from the kitchens."

 

"Twelve trips, highness. And I heard nothing."

 

"Twelve then." Sam waved the servants off, "Wait at the door, in case you need to accompany Dean to the boilery."

 

"You don't have a bathing place like mine?" Dean asked. At the shake of Sam's head Dean sighed. "Fine, they can fill the bath, but at least undress and dress yourself. I wouldn't be thrilled with a leader who can't do it for themselves. I'll start designing a better way to take care of filling the bath tomorrow."

 

"They really don't mind, it's their honor to... never mind. I will be more than satisfied to allow you to be the only one to undress me. Slowly. With your hands running down my body, touching me..." he said, dropping his voice down an octave and looking at Dean in a way he knew had to get to his split-apart. He heard the door close and then smiled at Dean. 

 

Dean strode the short distance to Sam and wrapped his arms around Sam's waist. "Yeah, I really don't want anyone else looking at your naked body. It's just for me to look at. Show me the rest of your 'wing' while they carry all those buckets up for our bath. That's gotta just suck."

 

Deciding not to repeat that it was their honor, or to bring up the fact that they would likely use very well balanced buckets and have plenty of servants to help, Sam merely leaned in and kissed Dean. "Mmm, alright. My room. Our bed." He slid his hand down Dean's back to his ass and squeezed lightly. Then he started to walk backwards, pulling Dean with him into a small room with lots of mirrors, wardrobes and a few chairs. Turning and putting his hand on Dean's back, he said, "my dressing room."

 

They walked into the adjoining room which had walls lined with books and several comfortable tables and chairs to sit at. "My study. This used to be the nursery when I was young. Stop looking at the books like they're more arousing than me," he added, noticing how animated Dean's face had become. 

 

"I never imagined so many books could exist!" Dean said, wanting to go over to the shelves and just start pulling random books out and looking through them. "Can I borrow some to read?" Dean asked hopefully.

 

"They're yours." Smiling, Sam walked up behind Dean and put his arms around his waist. "The downstairs library is four times as big. And then there's the library building. You could get lost there."

 

Dean turned in Sam's arms and kissed him. "You confuse me sometimes. When you act all highness-like, the only thing royal is that you're a royal pain in the ass. But then you act like...like I imagine normal people act like. And you're down to earth, and thoughtful, and stuff inside me just all twists up in love with you and it's like I feel real proud of you. You have so many facets, like the gems on your dagger. Every time you turn them in the light they look different, but they're still beautiful."

 

"You're absolutely right. I am like a gem, with many facets, complicated and... and one day, you may find that you enjoy me being a pain in your ass." It amused him that his comment would fly over Dean's head. "Come, leave the musty books behind. Let's finish touring, then I can love you the way you deserve. And you can tell me again how I look like a gem." He was serious about that and wasn't all that happy about the amusement he saw in Dean's expression in turn. 

 

They walked through the game room next. It was vast and had a collection of tables with various board games, table tennis, and even indoor croquet. Promising Dean he'd have the chance to try everything out very soon, Sam managed to rush him through several other rooms, including the bathing room with its vast tub which was now half-filled with steaming water. They crossed the hall and viewed a few additional sitting rooms, for his various 'moods,' Sam explained. "This last one is of no interest." He dismissed it with a hand gesture but was unsurprised to see Dean opening the last door.

 

Dean looked around the room and it took him a minute to realize it was a room for pissing and shitting, shaving and grooming, and other personal cleanliness details. Dean looked over his shoulder at Sam. "Let me guess. Too far to walk," he said dryly. "But where is your pantry for cooking? And your dishes? And a place to wash and dry your clothes? Where are your weapons and a place to practice with them?" 

 

Sam pointed at him in a way it was clear he was agreeing that Dean got the answer right. "There are weapons and training areas both within and outside the castle. I don't cook or wash or... I'm sure there are places to do all that somewhere in the castle, if it turns out you have some bizarre hobbies. It's alright, we'll keep it quiet, no one will need to know that. I'll give you the full tour tomorrow, and then Bobby or someone else can give you the servants’ tour. All this will be _after_ we've greeted my parents and given them the good news. If they catch us now, explanations might take hours. Come, bathe with me."

 

"I am surprised your nickname isn't 'Lazy,'" Dean said, rejoining Sam and giving his shoulder a light shove. They walked back to the bathing room. 

 

Dean mused that everything was bigger, but it was sort of like his towers, just everything fitted on one floor. "Can your parents nay-say our marriage?" Dean asked as he began to disrobe. "...And does the wizard live in these walls? What if he sees me? Could it be that I am his slave, that he owns me, and could he prevent us from being together?"

 

Sam’s gaze was trained on Dean, watching as a sliver of his chest became visible, and then his entire chest when Dean shrugged out of his shirt. His hand lingered but stayed on the fastening of his pants. That's when Sam realized Dean had stopped talking and was awaiting an answer. 

 

"You, ah... test my concentration skills again," he complained, trying to muster up an answer. "The wizard has his independent residence. He has the run of the castle but not the residential wings. Slaver..." He frowned. "It was outlawed in every kingdom long ago. You are a grown man and can do whatever you like, he has no power to tell you otherwise. If you wish to be with me, you only need to choose me."

 

Taking a few steps back, he sat down on a chair and continued to watch... waiting for Dean to be completely naked. "My parents may ask me not to marry you, but that won't hold the weight of law. If they make it a state order, then it will be the law only in this kingdom and we will go elsewhere. There is nothing... nothing that can stop us, Dean. Nothing but ourselves."

 

Dean was comforted by Sam's words, though he suspected Sam might be the naive one in this case. If Sam's parents were truly against it, what was to prevent them from imprisoning Dean? Or simply killing him? 

 

"Sam...what if your parents ordered the wizard to imprison me? What if they divined I was your split-apart and did not want us together?" Dean sat down on a chair and pulled off his boots, then stood up and began to undo his pants. "Aren't you going to get undressed?"

 

He couldn't deny that the possibility Dean brought up, and it disturbed him. It had never occurred to him and he didn't believe it now, but... "My parents are split-aparts themselves. They've seen me suffer, searching for my other half. Eventually, they did not believe I really have one, but what you are suggesting is so cruel only someone like the wizard would do it. If..." Arms on his thighs, he leaned forward, letting out a breath. "If they did have anything... anything at all to do with this, then I would disown them. And Dean," he looked up, "no prison in this castle would hold me or you. I know every way in and out of the castle. You saw me playing with Caleb's guards. I am nothing short of dangerous when I'm _not_ playing. Trust me in this. Come. Let me finish undressing you." 

 

The cascade of emotions across Sam's features was fascinating to Dean. So much and so fleeting. Upset, concern, pain, anger, and a dangerous look he hadn't seen in Sam before. "I can undress--" Dean started to say, then clamped his mouth shut. This had nothing to do with Sam feeling Dean needed help getting out of his clothes. 

 

He walked over to Sam and stood in front of him. "Your walls are far too plain," Dean said as he looked down at Sam and ran his fingers through Sam's hair. "And horses, I don't see how it can be easy to wash the smell of them free of clothes. But I still am looking forward to learning to ride." 

 

Sam ran his hands down Dean's sides and gripped his hips. "I know you are," he answered huskily, dipping his head and kissing Dean's stomach. He loved the way Dean's muscles tensed under his lips, especially as he started to move lower down his body. One hand got busy unfastening Dean's pant. He pulled his head back, gripped the material from both sides of Dean's hips and started to tug down slowly. "Dean of the Twin Towers. You are in my kingdom, my castle, in my heart. From this day forth, I pledge myself... my life and all I have, to you and to you alone. If you'll have me." Dropping the pants to the floor, he stood up, eyes still locked with Dean's as he quickly shed his own clothes. "Body and soul."

 

A blush crept up Dean's face. It was like something out of one of his books. "Of course I'll have you. Someone has to teach you how to dress yourself. Me, too. What you said. Me, too. For forever." He looked into Sam's eyes and saw that yearning in them that he had always seen in his dreams. Only this time the man they belonged to wasn't out of reach, wasn't unattainable. "Want you always," Dean said as he pressed himself against Sam. The electricity was there. His skin tingled and the hardening was already beginning to come upon him. "Love you always."

 

"Always," Samuel echoed, closing his arms around Dean and sealing their promises with a kiss meant to show what their forever would be like. He tangled his tongue with Dean's and held him close, rocking against him, leaving no space between them. No one and nothing would split them apart. Not ever.

 

Still kissing him, Sam picked Dean up into his arms and walked to the bathing pool, carefully walking down the marble steps until they were standing steaming hot water that reached up to mid-thigh level. He started to sit, maneuvering so they faced each other and never stopped kissing. 

 

One of his Sam’s legs was sprawled over Dean's thigh and Dean's opposite leg stretched out over his own thigh. When Sam put his feet flat on the bottom of the tub, his bent knees pressed against Dean's back, pushing him closer, drawing a groan out of Sam when his cock slipped against Dean's.

 

Leveraging himself, Dean pressed their cocks closer together. The way he needed Sam still scared him a little, he was so used to needing no one to be at hand. They would hunt down Sir Caleb, Dean decided, and castrate the man who convinced him the hardening was a sickness to be feared. All the lies he had been told through the years made him burn with even greater passion for Sam, for Sam had saved him in more ways than he could count. "Never lie to me," Dean whispered between kisses. "No matter what."

 

Dean ran his hands over his lover's body, marveling at the feel of the wet, firm muscles, the smoothness of Sam’s skin, and of the pulse of his heart beats. He was so filled with pleasure and wonder he thought he might explode from it all. He began to rock and rub against Sam, moaning each time the pressure increased on his now hard cock.

 

The slide of his body against Dean's had Sam craving more. Moaning into his split apart's mouth, he gave his promise. "Never... no matter what." His hands roamed Dean's back, molding him closer, pulling on his hips each time they came together. "Want you... want you so badly, I'm ill with fever for you." His breaths grew harsher. He concentrated on the pleasure coursing through him, pulsing harder and faster against Dean, already chasing his release. He wanted to make it last but he didn't want to fight, to hang on, didn't know if he even could right now. "Oh God..." he raked his teeth along Dean's throat and licked and kissed along the same trail. "Dean!" He pulled Dean close and held still, only grinding against him, letting the sweet ache in his loins build to new heights as he denied both of them the freedom of movement.

 

Dean could only groan in response to Sam's actions though when Sam stilled them both, he threw his head back. "Ngh...it hurts," Dean said, but his tone made it clear it was a painful pleasure. "A kettle on the fire closed off, building and ready to explode. You give me so much..." Dean's words trailed off as he ground back against his split-apart. Dropping his head forward, he captured Sam's lips and tongue-fucked his mouth, moving his tongue as if it were his body pressing and thrusting against Sam's.

 

Samuel gave a lust-filled groan. It was more than he'd ever imagined, more than he'd dared to hope. The aggression, the unabashed hunger, the need coming at him in waves from his split-apart spun him quickly out of control. His tongue warred with Dean's, his mind grew cloudy, his body rebelled and demanded more. Sam's fingers slipped off Dean's hip and ass. There was barely any pause. It was like the signal at the start of a race, and they were in sync. Grasping and tugging on his lover, moving against him harder and faster, reaching, climbing, giving a strangle shout as his body stiffened, Sam started to come, demanding Dean come as well, pleading with him. Groaning again as he felt Dean's shudder in response.

 

Dean gave a strangled cry, Sam's name on his lips. It was like nothing he had ever felt. The more he and Sam were together, it seemed their pleasure with each other was growing and a sixth sense about what Sam was feeling or needing was developing. He didn't know where his pleasure ended and Sam's began. He finally collapsed against his lover. Although Dean was in excellent shape, he had been through so much this day, physically and mentally, and he felt his eyes slide half-closed. He rested against Sam, deciding he wasn't interested in moving until Sam made him. 

 

Giving a satisfied sound, Sam moved them away to the end of the tub which had a soft slanted surface he could lean on with Dean still laying against him. He waited a few moments, enjoying the feel of Dean's heart beating against his own and taking Dean’s soft murmurs and closed eyes to mean he was completely exhausted. "And this... this is when servants who pick you up and tuck you into bed, come into handy." His chest rumbled with laughter and he fully expected the splash of water to his face.

 

* * * 

 

Sam had pulled the bedclothes off and was laying on his stomach between Dean's legs, and using his finger to write words on Dean's stomach. Each correctly guessed word earned Dean a kiss, each incorrect answer earned him a light nip, though Sam was quick to soothe away any pain with another kiss. Sometimes the punishment was a tickle, since that seemed to fascinate Dean. They'd been playing like this for a while when the curtains around the bed were swept aside with gusto.

 

"Bobby..." Sam groaned. "Come back later."

 

"God almighty." The retainer put his arm over his eyes as if this wasn't a sight he'd been privy too before, only in the past, it had been in places such as the stables, under bales of hay, or in sordid taverns. "Rise and shine, the King and Queen are awaiting you and your _intended_ at breakfast." Bobby pulled the chamber pot out from under the bed.

 

Rolling to the side of the bed, Sam groaned again as he started to unfasten his loose night pants.

 

Dean rolled his eyes. "You are gonna walk to the privy," Dean said, smacking Sam's hands. "You're not stinking up the bedroom. We'll go down there, groom ourselves properly, and then get dressed and go meet your parents." Dean pulled up his bed-clothes and pushed himself out of bed. "Oh, fuck!" he groaned and rubbed his lower back. "I believe riding horses must be a new torture device I have never read about. My legs hurt, my ass hurts, and my back hurts." 

 

A very perplexed looking Bobby kept holding the piss pot and staring at Dean.

 

"He's hurting _from_ riding, not from me riding him," Sam told him, reluctantly sitting up and waving the pot away. "It's alright. Dean thinks walking to the privy is good for your soul or something."

 

"And you're listening to him when I have been telling you for years?" Bobby half-growled at the prince, but then gave Dean something that could pass for a grin. "Can you do something about making him move faster? He suddenly acts like an ancient when it comes to things he doesn't want to do."

 

"I am your future king and you would do well to remember it. Both of you." Despite his brave words, a sliver or worry niggled at Sam. If these two joined forces....

 

Dean smirked at the retainer. "He moves very fast when he wants to, or when threatened with a skillet." He looked at Sam. "And just because you're the future King, and even when you _are_ the king, that's no excuse to be lazy. Though I do promise to help keep you in shape every night." Dean considered a moment. "I guess we'll have to find someone to bear you heirs, too. Or do you have brothers or sisters?" Dean looked around. "Are there any shoes to wear to the privy? The stone floor will be cold."

Bobby walked to the adjoining room and returned with two pairs of slippers, then bent down and slipped them onto Sam's feet before Sam stood up and stretched. Reaching for Dean's foot, Bobby placed one slipper on for him in tacit acknowledgement that there was a good chance Dean would become part of the Royal Family.


	7. Chapter 7

Once Sam and Dean left their chambers and walked the length of the hallway, a servant opened the door to the large bathing and privy room. Two servants were waiting inside. One of them prepared Sam’s toothbrush with cleansing powder. The other kneeled in front of him, pushed his long, white, silk bed-shirt out of the way, and starting to pull down on Sam's undergarment.

"Nay,” Sam stilled the man’s hands. “Dean gets jealous if anyone nears the Royal jewels," he said, though he allowed the man to hold up his shirt while Sam pissed into the toilet.

The blushing young servant did not meet either man's eyes and looked like he wanted to be swallowed by the ground.

Dean had to clench his jaw to prevent himself from telling the servants to stop doing all the door opening and stuff. He'd let Bobby put the slipper on him mostly because he didn't know how to deal with the man. That and he ached so badly he really didn't mind having help, even though the concept was foreign and novel. He stopped the servants from helping him piss with a shake of his head.

A young, dark-haired man walked in and bowed to them both. "I was told that the Prince's companion was in need of a massage? That he was sore from riding?"

"It's nothing, I'll work it out after breakfast," Dean said then cocked his head. "Uhm, so what is a 'massage?'"

"If the Prince permits, I can stretch and ease your muscles. As the King and Queen are awaiting your arrival, I will need to be efficient, but in just a few minutes, I can offer you some relief."

Dean looked at Sam for guidance.

"I think you will enjoy it," Samuel nodded.

The servant waited for Dean to drop his night shirt down then began to massage him from the shoulders down to his waist. Dropping down on his knees, he started to knead Dean's ass cheeks, moving his hands down to his thighs and back up.

"No complaints?" Sam grinned as he watched Dean all but moan with a pleasure of a different sort than Sam was able to wring out of him. "It's good to be the prince," he knowingly declared. Dean would learn in time, he decided, and took the opportunity to allow the other servant to brush his teeth and then sat down and was shaved clean.

Dean had to admit to being disappointed when the massage was over. Maybe he'd see about getting a longer one later. When he saw the servants ready to brush his teeth and shave him he shook his head. "I got it," he said, "but thanks."

After he shaved and brushed his teeth, he relented and let them brush his spiky hair. When the servant asked if Dean would like his haircut to be more presentable Dean gave a nod. He'd always cut his own hair and he knew it was probably a hack job, but it wasn't like he had a mirror other than the surface of the water. As soon as the haircut was done, Dean was lead to the dressing room and presented with fancy, court-appropriate clothing.

He held up the shirt they first offered to him. "Sam, c'mon, ruffles? Can't we go with something simple?"

"Sure you can. Then my parents will call you a peasant but..." he gave a careless shrug. "What you saw me wearing yesterday, that's for roaming the countryside and pretending you're not from the castle." Sam waved away the waistcoat. "Or you can go informal, like me. No coat, no jewelry, but a nice belt buckle. I do like these shirts... especially unbuttoning them..."

The young servant blushed again and stared at the ground.

"However you think I should dress," Dean agreed with a resigned wave of his hand. He twisted the shirt this way and that, trying to figure out how to put it on. Giving a long, frustrated sigh, he handed it back to the servant. "Fine. Show me how to put this costume on."

Noting the blush on Sam's servant's face yet again, Dean gave a small scowl. "Either you and your guy there have a thing, or he gets embarrassed easy," he said as two servants helped him into his fancy new clothes. He decided pretty quickly that he really hated to be fussed over. And that as soon as they were settled in and he could get away with it, he'd dress any way he damned well pleased.

"My guy?" Sam looked over at the youth. "You there, what's your name?"

"It's Peter, Your Highness."

"Please tell my intended you and I don't have a 'thing' ... an interesting turn of phrase, I'll admit," he added, smiling as another servant approached Dean and lightly pinched his cheeks until he was gently pushed away by a very annoyed looking Dean.

"I...ah..." the servant bowed several times towards Sam and Dean. "Nay... I have no thing..."

"You have no thing, that's a pity," Sam teased.

Bobby walked in. "Leave the lad alone. You're all dismissed," he said looking at the prince and Dean. "Well, at least you're more presentable than you were this morning. Come along."

Dean stared at the servant's retreating back, then at Sam. "Tell me you're kidding me. The servants aren't...their cocks are cut off? And that's an honor?" He glanced at Bobby. "You missing your wang-doodle, too?"

"I am not missing my wang-doodle or any such thing," Bobby huffed. "The lad is only fourteen and unlike certain other grown lads..." he gave the Prince a look, "he hasn't dipped his doodle into every sauce." Without another word, he walked into the bedchamber then slowed to wave for the two men to follow him out into the hall.

Sam laughed out loud. "The look on Bobby's face. Wang-doodle? Oh God... I'm going to have to use that. You have a sense of humor," he nodded, "or you're picking up mine. Excellent." Putting his hand behind Dean's back, he swept him out to the hallway and headed for the grand staircase rather than the back stairs they'd used the night before.

*

As they neared the small dining room, which in truth could easily seat twenty, Sam took Dean's hand and threaded their fingers together. He kissed the back of Dean's hand as Bobby announced, "The Crown Prince and His Intended."

They walked inside and headed for the end of the table where the King and Queen were seated. With the castle teeming with guests, usually there would have been others at the table. However, in order to allow them to speak privately, a breakfast for the other guests was being offered in the large dining room.

Sam’s parents appeared stunned. Apparently Bobby had left it up to him to explain that his split-apart was not a woman. "Bow when we reach them," Sam whispered, and as soon as Dean did as Sam asked, Sam spoke. "Mother, Father, I present my intended. Dean of the Twin Towers, my split-apart." His eyes held a challenging light.

Both King John and Queen Mary looked from their son, to Dean, and back again. "Samuel," John rumbled, "We are not amused by this...this...blatant disrespect. To suddenly come forth with a supposed split-apart only when I have made it clear I will choose your bride if you will not. This is ridiculous! And where are these supposed towers? What is his lineage?" John demanded.

"His lineage is irrelevant and hidden from him because our wizard, Azazel kept him prisoner in twin towers on the outskirts of the kingdom since ... since he remembers. He--"

"Lineage is not irrelevant. You are to be king one day, Samuel! Nobility from many kingdoms have come and presented their daughters to you and you snub them, dismiss them, and avoid them. And now you present a-a-a commoner, and a male, as your future companion? This is unacceptable!" John roared, his eyes ablaze with fury. "It is time for you to step up to the responsibilities of your birth. There will be no more roving about the land, pretending to be a commoner, shirking responsibilities of the court, and partaking of any pretty thing that shows you some flesh."

Sam looked at his mother for support, then back at his father. "I have a split-apart. I have always... always told you I have one. You're the one who chose not to believe. You're the one who arranged," he waved his arm around, "for all these unwanted people to be here. I may be many of the things you accuse me of," he nodded, "but I could not settle for anyone, not when my heart and soul yearned for Dean. It's the same for him. If you don't believe us, then come to the Twin Towers. See how many times over he drew my eyes. My eyes, Father, and he'd never seen me. And explain to me why your wizard put him there. Did you have anything to do with--"

"That's enough." It was Mary's voice, spoken low but with all the authority of her station. Her gaze shifted to John. "I don't trust Azazel. Let us send someone to investigate."

"No. You send someone else, and who is to say the evidence won't be erased? Believe me or not, but I will not choose another. I invoke all of our laws dealing with split-aparts. The crown is not above the law." Samuel's jaw pulsed. "If there is a constitutional issue with the laws of succession, I will abdicate, but I will not lose the other half of my soul."

Mary put her hand out when John would have spoken again. "Let us hear what Dean has to say about this," she said, her gaze sharpening on the young man who might cost her son the crown.

Dean's mouth went dry with the attention of Sam's mother and father focused so fiercely on him. "All of my life I lived in two--in the twin towers. When I was very young, Sir Caleb stayed with me. After I was perhaps five or six, he left for days at a time. The Wizard Azazel came to visit occasionally. I had birthmarks encircling my wrists and I was told they indicated I was the ‘Protector of the Kingdom’ and it was my duty to stay at the towers and kill any of the vile beasts that were brought to me. I was unable to leave the towers though I tried many many times.”

King John bristled a little, but his wife’s hand stayed him. Forced him to let the lad have his say.

"Throughout my life I looked to the West. I had a desire to go to the West so deep there were days I thought I would die if I did not. I dreamed of hazel eyes and a young man. These dreams often brought on great sadness because I knew I would never find this man though I had no idea who he was. These dreams also often brought on the hardening sickness, a disease Sir Caleb told me was best treated with cold water.”

This had the Queen raising a questioning brow, but she remained silent as Dean continued.

“I spent my days training with my weapons, reading books, many concerning evil beasts and how to kill them. I painted and I made puzzles and gadgets to pass the time. I saw no one but the Wizard Azazel, Sir Caleb, a few of his men, and the beasts.” Dean paused for a moment and when Sam squeezed his hand he continued.

"The towers had magical vines that would cover them if I was being hunted. They would usually beat back all who approached. I am told they could also make the towers invisible to any not quite close to them. Sam found the way to cause the vines to grow. I do not know why he was not repelled. He climbed up into my room. When I looked into his eyes, I saw the eyes that I dreamed of every night, but I did not believe.”

Sam wanted to tell Dean to take a breath, but his split apart was on a roll, and his parents were at least listening to his story. He decided not to interrupt or break the spell on everyone in the room.

“He told me of split-aparts. Then, when Sir Caleb came, Sam hid. He tells me Sir Caleb was banished years ago and is not a knight, but a mercenary. Sam convinced me to come with him. I could not get out of the towers, though I promised I would try once again. I failed, but Sam was able to leave the walls. He defeated the two guards left by Sir Caleb and caused the vines to grow again. When he touched the vines below and I above, from the balcony, they wrapped about my wrists and my birthmarks disappeared in a blaze of golden light. I was able to descend and join him.” Dean finally took a deep breath but the royal gazes of the monarchs did not waver from him. After another breath he continued.

"At the first tavern I saw the first woman I have ever seen. At the second tavern we danced and though others looked at me with lust, I could only imagine Sam's touches and looks and realized I wanted no other to have me but him. In my pack of belongings I brought from the castle are books of paintings and thoughts from my entire life. In there you will see the eyes I painted time and time again, and you can read of my desire to leave and head West.”

He swallowed, and continued. "I have no designs upon the throne. If Sam must marry a woman so that children may be borne as heirs, I understand. But I will not leave his side, and you will have to kill me to force me away from him. He is all I know and all I want. For the first time in my life, I am truly happy and I understand what love is. It is him." Dean licked his lips and glanced at the man he loved, kissing the back of his hand. "I mean it. If you have to marry a woman....I...I'll learn to deal, okay? So long as we're together."

Listening to Dean's story, Sam looked down and visualized it all the way Dean told it. Yes, he'd known a lot of it, but hearing it told as a story in the order of the events that took place was different.

His eyes misted at Dean's offer and he gave a half smile and shook his head 'no.' "That wouldn't be fair to her or to you and I don't want to share anyone else's bed. Not even if what was offered is a threesome between you and I and the fair--"

"Enough." John's palm slapped the table top.

"Almost enough." Sam licked his lips and reminded himself that while he and his father did not see eye to eye on many things and he had often been an insolent son, he hadn't been cut out of his family. This might be a difficult time, but eventually he would get through to the king, or his mother would, or his father would forget his anger. Things had to be said. "About Azazel. Did you?"

His father's gaze drilled into him. It was hard, but Sam didn't flinch or look away.

"Azazel will be dealt with."

"But did you--"

"You do not question me. Not until it is you who wear the crown."

There was a long silence. Mary put her hand over John's, squeezing it lightly. Her eyes spoke a silent message.

"Only a fool would believe that I would conspire against my own son. I hope I have not raised a fool," John finally said, relenting.

It wasn't phrased the way Sam might like, and it made him a little bitter, but he had his answer. He nodded, accepting it was the truth. "Father, I know I haven't been the son you might have wanted. My interests have not always coincided with yours or with..." he spread his arms releasing Dean’s hand. "I have not been easy to train. Whether or not I lose the crown, I don't want to lose you. Perhaps I can try harder or..." he looked at Dean, then took his hand again. "It may be that my Intended can be many of the things you wanted of me. He likes to study," Sam made a face. "He fights evil beasts, he has principles... some that are questionably egalitarian, but we can work on that..." his questioning gaze went to his mother who was laughing softly.

"Just like your mother, see how well it has worked so far," John said. "You have your minds set on this. The both of you?" he demanded.

Sam immediately nodded.

"Yes, absolutely," Dean said.

John looked at his wife. Mary gave a slight shrug. "Our son is stubborn to begin with. If Dean is his split-apart, nothing will sway him. And I suspect that he is, for what else could keep our Casanova of a son in one bed for the rest of his days?"

Giving a soft snort, John nodded in agreement. "Nothing shy of two broken legs. If that." John turned his gaze back to the two young men. "Very well. Tonight we shall have a celebration of the safe return of the prince to his home. At that celebration, the announcement will be made that a companion has been chosen and Sam you shall present Dean of the Twin Towers to the court. The wedding shall be New Year's Eve."

"Father, you're not ill?" Sam let out a breath. "I mean, yes, to everything you just said." His face split into a happy grin.

"Speaking of illness... what is this hardening illness you spoke of," Mary asked Dean. "Is it something we should be concerned about?"

Three pairs of male eyes stared at her, some brimming with amusement.

"Uh... no,” Sam said. “It's... I'm a master at taking care of it. We'll, ah... break our fast as I show Dean around. Love you." Tugging Dean's hand, Sam dragged him out of the room as quickly as he could, his amusement turning to laughter when he heard his mother start to grill the King.

* * *

Sam and Dean spent the whole day together. After the tour of the castle, they spent time out in the gardens. Though it was winter, the gardens were enchanted and there were always flowers of some sort in bloom. Dean couldn't get enough of being outside and while he was a little shy to talk to people, he liked people-watching, be it the castle dwellers or servants. Until Azazel was 'dealt with,' he couldn't help but be nervous about being seen by anyone, though. He also didn't want to leave the castle grounds, at least until their betrothal was announced.

They had spent time with the royal tailor and Dean swore the man measured every body part he had. He almost asked the tailor if he should have Sam get him hard so the guy could measure his cock at full length, too.

The festival was to take place in the grand hall, with additional seating out in the gardens for spill-over. Sam had shown him a few of the dances, but it was hard without others to watch and see, and without music to practice to. Dean muttered he was going to look like a complete simpleton. Then there was the delight of learning the 'proper' ways to bow and greet people of different rank. Wasn't a party supposed to be fun? His books had indicated as much. Having finally had enough, he convinced Sam to bring back the masseuse for him and he fell asleep in the middle of his massage.

*

Samuel walked into the bedchamber with a bevy of servants and retainers. He was fully dressed and loudly crunching into an apple as he leaned over Dean's sleeping form. "Sleeping Beauty, arise," he said, shaking Dean lightly, then taking another bite.

Dean slowly opened his eyes. "Hmm? Morning. Or whatever," Dean said with a yawn. He gave a good long stretch, then rolled over on his back. He suddenly realized they weren't alone. "Can't you go anywhere without ten people hovering around you?" Dean mumbled and sat up. He pulled a blanket over his groin, recalling Sir Caleb had a fit if Dean walked around naked for any reason what-so-ever. "Is it dinner time? I'm hungry," he said, snatching the apple from Sam and taking a bite from it before handing it back.

"I'm the thief in this family." Chuckling, Sam handed the apple back, forcing it into Dean's hand. "You're going to need all the energy you can muster. For the next half hour, this army will bathe, perfume, polish, and dress you until you look as good as I do." He struck a pose and gave an irritating grin before moving out of the way.

Instantly, many pairs of hands reached for Dean, helping him out of bed, covering him to preserve his apparent modesty, and generally ignoring his protests. As they swept him out of the room, Samuel went to sit down and put his hand out. "I'll be waiting for you right here," he said, closing his hand around the stem of a goblet that was pressed into it.

A harp was brought in and set up near the fireplace. He closed his eyes and listened to the soothing music, occasionally smiling when he could hear Dean's loud protests and arguments. From their talks today, it would be interesting to find out whether Dean would change court life or be changed by it. The beauty of it was that they would have the rest of their lives to find out.

Finally Bobby led a rather disgruntled Dean back to the room Sam was relaxing in. "Please tell me I don't have to do that all the time," Dean lamented. The servants had done everything Sam had promised and more: clipping and filing his nails on his hands and feet, cleaning them and polishing them and manicuring them. They'd freshly shaved him, even clipped his nose hair for God's sake! Creams had been applied all over his body, his hair had been more finely cut and styled, they'd plucked his eyebrows and even put a bit of make-up on him and adorned him with jewelry, including a fine golden circlet for his brow. If Bobby hadn't been there to calm him, Dean was certain more than one servant would have gotten punched.

Legs sprawled out in front of him, his eyes roved slowly up and down Dean's body and then lingered on his slightly reddened lips. Sam drawled, "Only whenever I say. And since I like what I see... I mean I really like what I see...." His heart had kicked up a notch and a part of his brain was thinking about falling back on his old tricks and skipping the party for some real fun. "Come here," he put his hand out, ready for Dean to either take it or knock it back. He couldn't help it if he liked to rile him a little now and again.

"Don't be thinking that I'm gonna listen to your every whim," Dean threatened him, but took Sam's hand anyhow. "If I have to go through this crap every time there's a party, I think I'll gladly be mistaken for a peasant. And you're looking just too damned pleased with yourself."

"Am I? I thought I was looking damned pleased about you." Slowly, he drew him closer and down onto his lap, "If I didn't know Bobby was having every door in the wing guarded, I'd skip the party and keep you all to myself." Lifting his glass up, he pressed it to Dean's lips. "It's the finest mead in the land. A little like your strong fruit. You'll like it."

Dean tasted it, his eyes locked on Sam's. "I think I prefer wine. Or ale. Or you."

Bobby stepped forward quickly. "I won't be having the two of you walking around showing wood." Seeing Dean's blank look, he clarified. "Your cock standing at attention for each other."

Dean smirked at Sam. "We could go ahead and take care of any issues now."

"No!" Bobby said sharply. "We didn't just spend all this time getting you cleaned up and presentable to the Court only to have to go through it all again in a quarter hour. Both of you, on your feet. Prince Sam, you must enter alone since there has been no announced as yet. Lord Dean, you will mingle. You both will mingle. Separately. It is protocol."

Setting the glass down, Sam ran his hand up Dean's back and pulled him closer. His lips locked over Dean's in a heated kiss. His intended tasted sweet, like honey, and Sam could barely get enough. Moaning softly, he tangled his tongue with Dean's, pulling him closer and raising his hips. "Give us ten min--"

Bobby pulled Dean up, demonstrating his hidden strength. Sam got up at the same time, mostly because he was holding onto Dean. "I miss you already," he said, leaning in and breathing Dean's scent one last time before walking backwards toward the door. He kissed his fingers and blew a kiss toward Dean. "Bobby will explain the gesture, he's good at that," he said, disappearing out the door.

Bobby glared after Sam. "He's going to put me in an early grave," he muttered. "He 'blew you a kiss,'" Bobby told Dean. "A sign of affection from across a room. I'll be taking you out the back stairs and bringing you into the Great Hall. It would be inappropriate to have you seen coming from the Prince's wing."

"But everyone in the castle knows--"

"The servants know but it's been kept from the other guests, though there have been rumors of course. It's just the way things are done."

Dean sighed. "You know, sometimes I miss the simplicity of my towers."

Bobby chuckled. "I imagine so."

* * *

Prince Samuel was on his best behavior. He was courteous to his parents, didn't go off in a huff when he was forced to mingle with people who he found off-putting and even managed to pretend great interest and pride in his kingdom when the minister of agriculture explained to him in excruciating detail about their process of manure collection and transportation to farmlands and how it was incredible that they managed to export it to other kingdoms as well. Then he found himself half-listening to a statesmen speaking to his father and mother and telling two sides of a dispute. Without thought, he offered his own judgment of what might be a fair resolution for the two involved parties and was startled by King John's announcement that he would be expecting Sam to attend the Court of Justice and to provide council in the future. Bobby was told to make sure Samuel's schedule reflected court days.

Sam wasn't sure how to feel about it, not until he saw the pride in his mother's eyes. She believed in him. Thinking about it, he felt he could assist his father, and at least balance the King's hard and dour looks, making those who wished to present their problems feel more at ease with the crown.

He'd been listening for introductions as more and more guests arrived. Finally, he heard Dean's name and looked toward the door where Dean walked into the ballroom. His heart nearly stopped. All he wanted to do was walk up to him, touch him, and then announce loudly to the world that this was who he planned to marry. Dean might not be a princess, nor even a prince, but he was so much more than that and anyone who saw them together would see it.

As Dean was drawn into a group and started to talk with them, Sam was told to dance with the Princess of Chester. Though he swept her out onto the dance floor and asked her questions about the lands she came from, his eyes constantly sought out Dean's. He also felt his father's gaze on him, but wasn't certain whether he was being watched with disapproval or something else. Just as he waltzed the princess off the dance floor and brought her to her parents, Azazel and his daughter, the Lady Meghan, were announced.

Lady Meghan, a spritely blonde, scanned the dance floor until she spotted her target. Seeing that the prince had just finished dancing, she wasted no time in crossing the floor, pausing to politely greet people only if she had to. She approached Prince Samuel and the royal family from Chester. When she was noticed, she gave a deep curtsy.

"Might Prince Samuel have a moment of time to offer to me?" she asked. When Sam looked at her, she locked gazes with him and slowly straightened, smiling. "I've been searching for you for a long time, my prince."

Samuel felt a flush of heat sweep through him. He blinked. "You... you have?" It wasn't as if they'd never seen each other, but it did feel like it was the first time. He felt a little dazed. Something pulled him toward her and at the same time seemed to pull him away. "You've grown." He knew people were staring at him and that he was being unusually awkward. Running his hand over his face, he asked. "What is this about?"

"Every time I see you, even if from a distance, something in me wants to run to you, to ask you to look at me and tell me what you see. My dreams at night are filled with your beautiful hazel eyes and handsome visage. Do you dream of me? Do I not seem familiar to you in a way that's never been there before?" She reached out and lightly touched his hand.

He felt a tingle that went from his fingertips and up his arm and felt his breath catch. Dragging his gaze away, he desperately looked for a pair of green eyes in the crowd, and when he didn't find them, he settled on meeting the gaze of the Princess of Chester. Her eyes were green. Almost the right shade of jade. There was a silent plea in the way he looked at her but he wasn't sure what he was asking of a complete stranger. Then Meg squeezed his hand and he turned back to her. He was trying to fight the confusion in his mind when she stepped closer to him and he breathed in her scent. It was intoxicating and filled him with joy.

"Yes. Yes, I'm sure I've dreamed of this," he agreed, pulling her close. The band struck up another waltz but Sam wasn't interested in dancing. He swayed toward her, feeling as if he was going to die unless he kissed her and made her his.


	8. Chapter 8

Dean had been mingling with the guests, trying not to ask questions since he didn't know if any of his questions would seem uncommonly strange. He was asked of his lands and he told them it was a very small bit of land he was "lord" over and that it barely counted. Finally he had encountered a duke and his son who lived near the fringes of darker woods and Dean was soon telling them of beasts he had seen and how he had killed them. In turn, they told of hunts they had had. Dean was finally beginning to feel at ease and even laugh some, having found someone he could talk with where they had common ground. It was then that a strange tingle ran down his spine and he turned, searching for Sam. Something inside him demanded he find Sam immediately, that his split-apart was in grave danger, that their very bond was in danger.

 

Dean shoved through the crowd, not caring who it was he pushed aside. "Sam? Sam? Where are you?" he demanded. A servant pointed and Dean's eyes tracked the direction until he saw Sam with a blonde woman. He began to run, drawing his sword. People scattered from his path. Fury was etched in every line of his face as he saw Sam pull the woman into his arms. 

 

"Get away from him!" Dean screamed at her, feeling the magic, feeling his own stolen essence coating her. "Sam! Look at me! _Sam!_!"

 

Just as Sam started to pull back, Meg's eyes gleamed silver. "The Prince has asked for my hand in marriage. I accept," she said loudly. "Kiss me. Seal out betrothal," she hissed at Samuel, stepping close and raising her face. "Now, or I will slip through your fingers forever."

 

Sheer pain. The memory of being alone, of never being satisfied or at peace, tore through Sam. No, he didn't want to experience such agony again. Still... he started to turn, to look behind him for the source of a strange tug on his soul, when Meg's hands closed around his face and pulled him toward her for a kiss. A shrill warning sounded in his head, but was it fear of losing her? He couldn't think straight...

 

Dean saw guards beginning to move, but they were too far away. Something in his soul screamed to him if Sam kissed the witch, that he would lose Sam forever. "You are mine! Not hers! Mine!" Dean yelled. The witch was too close to Sam, he couldn't launch his sword at her and be confident he wouldn't injure his love.

 

Suddenly the Princess of Chester tackled Lady Meghan, tearing her from Sam's arms and punching her across the jaw. She drew a silver dagger and cut Azazel's daughter's face. Lady Meghan shrieked as her skin burned and smoked. She fell back, putting her hands up, protecting her face.

 

Meghan was finally far enough away from others and Dean threw his sword with all his might. The blade buried itself in the woman's gut and knocked her back several feet. She pulled the sword out and hefted it. "Not good enough, boy," she snarled.

 

"Try this," the Princess of Chester said, tossing her silver dagger to Dean who deftly caught it with a nod of gratitude. Dean closed the distance, grabbing Meghan’s wrist to prevent her from wielding the sword, and then buried the silver dagger in her chest without any hesitation. 

 

Meghan gurgled, the sword falling from her hand as she sank to her knees, then her eyes rolled back. Her wrist slipped out of Dean's grasp, leaving him holding a chunk of skin.

 

"Shapeshifter," Dean hissed, throwing down the flesh with disgust and turning to Sam.

 

It took Sam a few minutes to orient himself and understand what was happening to him. He could hear exclamations and chants of 'sorcery' and 'witchcraft' and saw that near the exit, Azazel was being arrested and there were a dozen court wizards holding flames in their hands and presumably weaving counter-spells to whatever diabolical rites Azazel was attempting, though he protested he had no idea the woman was a shapeshifter and not his daughter.

 

The wet mess that dropped from Dean's hands had Samuel making a face. He felt the tension in the room. Fear, outrage, and shock were thick in the air. "Well now, it's ah... very flattering that three of you," he nodded at the dead figure, the Princess of Chester and at Dean, "are fighting over my hand, though it's a very unusual situation."

 

Nervous laughter rippled through the crowd, easing a little of the tension.

 

"Before there is any more mayhem," Sam made a face again. "I have an announcement to make."

 

Several servants wove through the crowd and cleaned Dean's hand off with steaming wet towels, but Sam ignored them. "I have selected my Intended."

 

A hush fell over the crowd and most eyes focused on the Princess of Chester.

 

"In a few days, on New Year's Eve, I will marry my split-apart." He put his hand out to Dean, and when Dean took it, he pulled him closer and sealed his announcement with a kiss. 

 

There were murmurs, some protests, some speculations, and some calls of congratulations. Sam put his hand up for silence. "There may be constitutional issues and those will be looked at by the Council. Whatever their decision on succession, it won't change our plans for marriage, and you are all invited. I promise that Dean and the Princess of Chester," he gave her a slight bow, "who apparently has hidden talents, will _not_ be fighting any witches or monsters at our next party."

 

Again, there was some laughter. 

 

"I know you're dying to find out more about the only man for me, Lord Dean of the Twin Towers. For now, all I will say is that years ago, when he was but a babe, he was kidnapped by Lord Azazel and kept secluded. Nevertheless, he is educated, and you have seen for yourself he has more than a little skill with the sword, and great knowledge about the dark things that occasionally plagued the kingdom. In time, I hope you will see he is wise and has the leadership qualities of the Kings and Queens that have come before us." He gave his parents a nod. "Now, let’s have some music, and wine, and make merry. I swear there will be no more violence unless anyone attempts to steal a kiss from me..." 

 

Chuckling, he kissed Dean again, this time for real. Cradling one side of Dean's face, he put his heart and soul into the kiss, promising him forever.

Dean pulled Sam up against him and returned the kiss, knowing he had come terribly close to losing his true love. When they finally came up for air, Dean gripped the side of Sam's neck and squeezed lightly. "Don't ever do that again. The almost falling under someone else's spell. I'm the only one you're allowed to be enchanted with."

 

Turning, he gave the princess a bow. "Thank you m'lady for the use of your silver dagger. And for saving my Sam."

 

She gave an elegant curtsy. "I saw the flash of silver in eyes. And the way the Prince looked at me for help when it first approached him, it was clear he was being bewitched. I am Princess Samantha of Chester. These are my parents, King William and Queen Ellen." She stepped forward and stared into Dean's eyes. "Do you...do you have a birthmark on your...uh, nether-regions? Rather like a starburst?"

 

Dean frowned. "The birthmark on my ass? I did. I haven’t checked to see if it disappeared with the ones on my wrists.” He looked at Sam “Is it still there?” At Sam’s nod he turned back to her. "Guess I do."

 

Princess Samantha looked back at her parents. The King stepped forward. "Our son was taken from us, stolen away, soon after his birth. Every year, on his birthday, we light the sky with magical lights, praying it might bring him home to us."

 

"January 24," Dean whispered.

 

The king of Chester smiled. "Yes. You look so much like my younger brother did, there can be no other truth. _You_ are our son."

 

"I have a family? A sister?" His gaze took in the three people before him, the King and Queen both with tears on their cheeks and the Princess' eyes glittering, her tears near to falling.

 

"My name, is it really Dean?"

 

"Yes," Ellen said. "After my father. Your grandfather." She held open her arms to him. 

 

Dean stepped forward and hugged her, then his father, and his sister he swung around. "I have a sister to torment!"

 

"Don't get any ideas, big brother. I could kick your royal butt any day of the week."

 

"Samantha!" Ellen snapped at her.

 

"Sorry Mother," she said but leaned in close to Dean's ear when he set her down. "But I could."

 

"Maybe we'll test that one day," Dean whispered back, then kissed her on the cheek. "Wait. I'm royalty? I'm a prince?"

 

She smacked him on the forehead. "Duh." She looked over at Prince Samuel and grinned. "You're cute, but it wouldn't have worked. _I_ go by Sam. Though I guess we could have called you 'Sammy.'" 

 

"Or just... 'Highness.'" Sam bumped Dean with his elbow when his intended made a face. "Little Sister, I think you and I will have to work on getting Dean a sense of humor." Sam sensed she was an adventurer and a kindred spirit. 

 

John and Mary had joined them and were exchanging congratulatory hugs with their future in-laws. Then they were hugging Dean. Sam in turn was welcomed by his future in-laws, and there was a round of clapping. 

 

At King John's signal, the music changed. Samuel put his arm around Dean's waist and swept him off to the center of the ballroom. Soon they were joined by members of their family, and then other guests. 

 

Sam rested his forehead against Dean's. "Your family wants you to stay with them for a while." He was both happy and a little worried, which was ridiculous. He'd said nothing would ever separate them, and nothing would.

 

"I would like that," Dean said. "I would like to see my homeland, and get to know my family. I also want to get to know my new family here." Dean smiled broadly. "I would like to return to my homeland on my birthday. I want to see the lights in the sky up close. They're beautiful. I want to share them with you. We can stay a month or so maybe? Then come back here for a while, and then visit there again? I guess...I guess if I'm the eldest, the kingdom there is mine to inherit, isn't it?"

 

"We could honeymoon in Chester. It would mean many glasses of mead." At Dean's questioning look, he explained. "It's tradition for you and your guests to drink a glass for every day of your honeymoon. Chester is but a few days hard ride, we could go back and forth," he agreed. "And it will be yours to claim, if that fierce sister of yours doesn't fight you for it. I like her. Does she remind you of anyone?"

"Let's do wine instead and I'm all for it," Dean said. "And I guess I'm definitely going to have to learn to ride." Dean nodded at Sam's comment about his sister. "Yes, I like her too. She doesn't seem to be the type to put up with crap."

 

Sam’s lips curving into a smile, he stepped away from Dean as the music changed and people started to form two lines for a faster dance.

 

Dean looked at the dancing lines and then at Sam. "You didn't teach me how to dance to this one!" Dean said, but suddenly he was swept away by his sister as the music started up, his laughter soon matching her own as they twirled among the others. 

 

* * *

 

The days following were a whirlwind of activity for Dean. There were moments, very _brief_ moments, but moments all the same when he wished he was back in his towers just so he'd get a bit of peace and quiet and time to catch his breath. 

 

His sister had hit it off with Sam’s cousin, Adam, the Marquis of Wynn. Within a few days, she’d decided to accept Adam Wynn as her betrothed. 

 

Soon, those well versed in making royal matches and dealing with marriage contracts crafted an unexpected bargain. Adam and Samantha would provide the heirs to both kingdoms, allowing Prince Samuel to take the crown in his own kingdom. Dean would abdicate his throne to Samantha. Samantha and Adam’s second born would be reared as Sam and Dean's heir apparent, since Adam’s father, King John’s brother, would have been next in line for Sam’s throne anyway. This arrangement pleased both royal families as the bloodlines were kept intact and a constitutional crisis was avoided. 

 

Sam and Dean spent a great deal of time with both sets of parents, and in the evenings, Sam showed Dean around the town. Wedding plans were made and Dean bitched constantly about the fuss and tailors and clothing and all the attention he just wasn't accustomed to. He made fun of the fancy clothes whenever they weren't with either of their parents and swore as soon as he and Sam were married, that he was going to go back to dressing in real clothes instead of costumes. Dean insisted on at least a few hours a day of weapon's practice, and he spoke often with the historians and scribes, learning about the land and customs and laws. He also found time to talk with the engineers and wizards about the time-saving devices he had created in his towers and the bath. It wasn't at all uncommon for Dean to help the servants do things, which he suspected drove Sam up the wall. Unless he was making tarts for his beloved.

 

The day before the wedding had finally arrived and Dean was quite upset to learn that he and Sam were not permitted to see each other for a full day before the wedding. Dean was assigned to guest quarters and found himself essentially under lock and key, and Sam was likewise locked in his quarters. They were both given lectures on the duties of their positions, instructed on the wedding proceedings, and other things to prepare them for married life. 

 

Finally, everyone but the servants were gone and Dean had requested a massage, followed by a hot bath and plenty of wine. He hoped it would all settle his nerves, ease his keen sense of loss at Sam’s absence, and would help him fall asleep alone for the first time since Sam had come to him in the towers.

 

*

 

The nice long massage had certainly helped relax him and now he was sitting in the scented hot bath, sipping wine, and had candles lit about the room. Distantly he could hear music and laughter and smiled, but wished he and Sam were at the party, too. He would be very glad when the whole marriage thing was over and Sam and he could start their lives together.

 

*

 

If locking him up and posting guards hadn't worked since he'd reached the age of seven, Samuel wondered what they thought they could accomplish by trying to confine him to his quarters now. If he wanted out, he'd get out. And after a full day of being kept apart from Dean, he wanted one thing. Out. 

 

He'd climbed out of his window and, instead of going down to the grounds where he knew guards had been posted, he climbed to the roof. From there, he ran toward the wing that his split-apart had been taken to, jumping over barriers and tight walking over narrow beams that went from one part of the castle’s structure to the other.

 

Each step that brought him closer to Dean eased the tension that had grown in his chest. He'd been reminded today of the years of loneliness, the cold void that had grown inside him when he'd been told over and over that he was wrong, that he was not one of the lucky who had a soul mate waiting for him. 

 

Finally, he reached the edge of the roof, looked down and made some calculations. Ah... he would have made such a great thief. Too bad he couldn't brag about that to his father.

 

Minutes later, he was climbing inside the window to Dean's bed chamber. The room was empty but the door to the adjoining room was open, so he quietly headed that way. Walking through the dressing room he reached the bathing room. In the center of the room was a large bathtub engraved with a lion motif and held up on four clawed feet. 

 

Golden light from the fireplace and the candles played across Dean's back and shoulders. Watching Dean lift the glass to his lips, then swallow, his throat convulsing, Sam felt his loins tighten. This was his other half, the man he would marry tomorrow, the man who would share his bed and his life. Superstition be damned, he would speak to him... see him.

 

Walking up behind Dean, Samuel did something he never had before, well at least before he'd met Dean. He picked up the sponge. Pouring some sweet scented soap on it, he started to slowly, gently scrub Dean's shoulders, getting him all foamy. As he moved the sponge to Dean's chest, he started to run his bare hand over his shoulder and arm, his fingers brushing Dean's collar bone and sliding occasionally lower, over his nipple.

 

Dean had shut his eyes when he heard the soft steps of someone in the room. He'd told the servants to leave him be. He could wash and dry himself just fine. When he felt the sponge on his back he gave a soft sigh of frustration but leaned forward a little. 

 

His eyes sprang open when he felt a familiar hand touch him and smelled the scent he knew so well after only such a short time. "Sam..." he whispered, his breath hitching when Sam's fingers lightly caressed his nipple. "You're not supposed to be here. They said it's bad luck to see each other the day before the wedding." Dean wanted to turn and look at his split-apart, but maybe if they didn't actually _see_ each other, the bad luck wouldn't happen.

 

"You're too smart." Sam gave a brief pout at being caught out so soon, though he was pleased at the same time that Dean was as aware of him as he was of Dean. 

 

Dropping all pretense of washing him, he started to caress Dean more sensually, gliding his hands up and down his chest and neck and leaning in, speaking into his ear after he kissed around its shell. "You haven't seen me yet. I can blindfold you, hmm? Doesn't that sound fun?" Of course Sam wasn't thinking about superstition, but about depriving Dean of the sense of sight and then driving him wild until he pleaded for release. The thought alone had him giving a low moan.

 

"You would have to be blindfolded as well," Dean pointed out, "and I think that might make things more difficult." Even worried about the bad luck, he leaned back, giving Sam easier access to his chest. Savoring the touch of his lover's hands, he closed his eyes and twisted his head, seeking Sam's mouth. He had missed Sam's presence so much today. 

 

"No I wouldn't, the saying goes 'one can't see the other.' You're the one." Succumbing immediately to the sensations flooding him, Sam kissed his love, delving his tongue into the heat of Dean's mouth and slowly exploring every corner like it was their first kiss. His hands never stopped moving, touching, mapping out the contours of Dean's water-slicked body. He stayed like that for a long time, unable to get enough of his love, but taking what he could and whispering to him between kisses, telling him how hard a single day alone had been for him, and how much he'd missed Dean.

 

Sam brushed his hand over Dean's cock, moved his hand to Dean’s hip and back. Each time he touched Dean, he felt him get a little harder. "You missed me, too," he stated as a fact, leaning in and kissing Dean's throat and moving down to the heated flesh of his chest. "Mmm, tastes so good. So good, Dean. Don't send me away," he begged, touching his love in all the ways he knew to increase his need and lessen the likelihood that Dean would hold with tradition and tell him to be off.

 

"I've missed you almost every moment," Dean murmured. "You sure about the bad luck thing? I don't want to risk anything, any of our future, just because of one night. And I don't want to do this unless I can see you." The way Sam was touching him had the hardening on him quickly. He wanted to make love to Sam, to feel him and touch him the way Sam was doing to him. He loved the evenings when it was just the two of them together, being in his arms and having no one else about. Knowing he was finally free in ways he couldn't have begun to imagine a mere few weeks ago.

 

Though the thought of having Dean blindfolded was tempting, it was a pleasure Sam could show him some other time. "Promise you, it's nothing but an old wives’ tale, meant to drum up the excitement of seeing each other." Sam got up and moved around to the side of the tub and looked down at Dean, his gaze traveling slowly over every inch of his love's body, and coming back to his eyes. Something unspoken passed between them, but he gave voice to it, as he had before. "Let me have you," he said putting his hand out. "Want you so much, want to be one with you, body and soul." 

 

With Sam's reassurances, Dean opened his eyes and drank in the sight of his lover. "It worked. Working up the excitement," Dean said with a grin. He felt so anxious to be in Sam's arms. "After the wedding they expect us to stand around and talk and dance and eat? After having gone a whole day without seeing each other? That sounds like torture. I don't think I could do that. Not without getting a sample of my Love tonight." Dean took Sam's hand and stood up. "You already have me. We are one. We always will be," he said and carefully stepped out of the tub.

 

Seeing his love's body shimmering and bathed in the golden light of the candles, water dripping and steam rising from his perfect body, Sam's mouth went dry. He stared hotly at Dean for a moment before catapulting into action. Stepping forward, he closed his strong arms around Dean and lifted him up against his own body. By the time his mouth closed over Dean's, Sam's clothes were drenched and the heat from Dean's body was seeping right through. 

 

Moaning into Dean's mouth, Sam twisted his tongue around Dean's, starting a game of cat and mouse that would drive both of them crazy. He started to walk to the door and, sliding one hand down over Dean's ass cheek to his leg, he cupped his thigh and pulled it up, encouraging Dean to lock his legs around him. 

 

With a soft chuckle, Dean hopped up a little and did as Sam wanted. Wincing, he nipped Sam's lip. "No more big belt buckles," he scolded Sam. He let Sam suck him back into a kiss and soon found himself being laid back onto the large, soft bed. 

 

Grinning, he kept his legs locked around Sam, tugged him down, then rolled them over so he was on top. He began unbuttoning and unlacing Sam's shirt, then gave a soft growl. "This is why I prefer simple shirts."

 

Sam smiled at Dean's sudden aggressiveness. "Maybe this staying apart thing isn't that bad an idea," he mused, running his hands up and down Dean's back and over his firm ass cheeks. The heat emanating from Dean's body was driving him to distraction, as was the look of desire in those jade eyes of his dreams. "Good things come in ... in tightly wrapped and bowed packages." As he felt Dean's fingers slide across his bare stomach, Sam's head rocked back at the sensation sweeping through him.

 

"Is that why you like my pants so tight?" Dean teased, finally getting the last of the laces undone and pulling the shirt up and off of Sam, tossing it to the side. He quickly unlatched Sam's gaudy, large belt buckle and pulled the belt free, tossing it aside as well. 

 

"Finally!" Dean murmured and scooted down Sam's legs. Leaning in, he began kissing his lover's stomach as his hands slid up Sam's damp chest, tracing his muscles with his fingers and his tongue. He pressed his chest against Sam's still-clothed groin.

 

"Hell yeah!" Sam echoed Dean's exclamation, his arms instantly moving to Dean's shoulders and pushing him down to get a bit more pressure as he lifted his body upwards, shamelessly rubbing up against Dean's chest. "Oh God... think I'm suffering from the hardening illness. There's only one cure," he said, running a hand through Dean's short wet hair, pushing it off his forehead. Feeling Dean lap at his navel, he made a choked sound. "Have you been gossiping with the servants?!"

 

"Gossiping? About what?" Dean asked as he experimented with thrusting his tongue in and out of Sam's navel and liking the response he was getting. He squeezed Sam's sides then ran both his hands up in tandem to find Sam's nipples which he began rubbing and tweaking.

 

"Ngh..." Sam writhed under Dean's ministrations. "About... about this... how to... oh fu..." 

 

"Sorry? What was that?" Dean asked with a chuckle, feeling Sam's cock swell. "You're babbling. Must be that hardening illness. Should I get some cold water?"

 

"I don't bab..." Swallowing, Sam tried to pull himself together. "I'd rather you took care of it with the heat of your mouth. Ngh..." he moaned again as Dean tongued him in ways too wicked for one as innocent in sexual arts as Dean. 

 

"My mouth?" Dean asked. Unbuttoning and unlacing Sam’s pants, he opened them, exposing Sam’s thick cock. Sliding a little lower between Sam's legs, he studied Sam's cock then blew across it. "It's leaking."

 

"If not gossip,” Sam gasped, “you've been at the books... that's it, isn't it?" he asked, his voice choking off as he dropped his hand to the bed and gripped the sheets so tight, his knuckles whitened.

 

He ran his tongue over Sam's balls and straight up Sam's cock, stopping just shy of the crown. "Hmm, maybe I could work out that illness by coaxing the evil fluid out." He leaned back down and nuzzled Sam's balls, sucking first one, then the other into his mouth. After a few moments of playing with Sam's balls, Dean said, "I like the library. Some _very_ interesting books there." 

 

Even when Sam got his voice back, it was thin and reedy. "I looove the library," he agreed, squeezing his eyes closed when Dean actually pressed his mouth to the area between his balls and cock and sucked on it, sending a wave of pure heat rushing through Sam's system. "Thought I'd... I'd done it all." Spreading his legs wider, he hoped and prayed for the next touch of Dean's mouth or tongue.

 

That made Dean pause. "I'm doing stuff you've never had done to you?" he asked, surprised. He had gossiped with the staff and with Bobby and by Sam's own admission, Sam was very experienced with lovemaking. 

 

"Dean!" Sam sat up, bracing on his elbows, and glowered at his love. "Stopping... not good. And you _know_ I'm not good at talking and loving at the same time." He let out a few heavy breaths and just knew he was expected to give an answer. "Oh for God’s sake, yes I've done this... generally. No, I haven't done some of the things you're doing, specifically. Now could you put your mouth to good use before I grow old in front of your eyes?" 

 

Dean began laughing at the look in Sam's eyes and the exasperation he heard in his lover's voice. Tsking, he said. "Yes, the hardening illness is making you testy." 

 

He gripped Sam’s pants and tugged the wet material down and off, taking Sam’s boots with them. Resituating himself between Sam’s legs and with a final smirk at Sam, he firmly grasped Sam's cock and guided it into his mouth. Although he wasn't entirely sure how to make it feel the best for Sam, he remembered the icicles he would break off during the rare icings that happened at the towers and how he would suck on them. He also recalled the things Sam had done and how good it had all felt. He began to experiment again, seeing what got the best reactions from his lover.

 

Sam's eyes tracked Dean's motions, watched his cock disappear into Dean's delectable mouth and noted how he seemed to concentrate before sucking on him so damned sweetly it drew a long moan out of Sam. His stomach clenched as he continued to watch, forcing himself to remain as still as he could. "Yeah... that's it, I like that," he said, knowing there was no way Dean didn't realize how much Sam was enjoying this. As Dean took his cock deeper, Sam's head rolled back. "More," he begged, thrusting upwards until he felt his cock hit the back of Dean's throat and gentled his motions. Then Dean was swallowing around his cock and Sam thought he was going to go mad with desire. "De--"

 

A loud rap on the door was followed by the twisting of the door knob. 

 

Eyes suddenly widening and a curse falling from his lips, the instant Dean let him slip from his mouth, Sam rolled off the bed. From his hiding place, he could hear Dean scrambling to pull the sheets up over himself. 

"I brought you a liqueur to calm your nerves before you sleep," Bobby said, not looking at the bed at all.


	9. Chapter 9

Bobby placed a tray down on a table close to the bed, then turned on his heels and left, pausing at the door only to say, "and an extra one for that idjit. Tell him not to get caught," he sighed and pulled the door shut behind him.

Sam got up, and was still panting. "’Highness’... dammit. You should have corrected him when he said idiot." Groaning, he rolled on top of Dean and thrust against him, though they were separated by the silk sheet. "That man has the worst timing," he added, his gaze lingering on Dean's lips.

"I think he plans it that way intentionally," Dean said, relieved Bobby didn't make Sam leave. "And if I had corrected him, that would have confirmed you were here and meant you were caught." He licked his lips, knowing it would drive Sam crazy. Running his hands over Sam's shoulders and down his arms, he said, "This sheet between us makes it hard to have much fun."

Entranced, Sam whispered, "this is no time for logic." Dipping his head down, he dragged his tongue across the same trail as Dean's tongue, only doing it slowly and savoring his love's taste and the softness of his lips. Sucking Dean's lower lip into his mouth, he pulled his head up slowly. Pushing one knee between Dean's thighs, he moved deliberately, thrusting in circular motions, rubbing against Dean's hardening cock. The thin sheet didn't give either of them any protection. If anything, the way it bunched and made Sam think of how it had felt to be skin against skin drove his desire to new heights.

Hands pressing into the mattress on either side of Dean's shoulders, he lowered his mouth and kissed him again. Slowly. Sweetly. Invading his mouth and tangling their tongues together in a leisurely dance. Their mouths slipped against each other, pressing and parting and touching again. He savored every moment, every slide of tongue against tongue, every soft murmur and every stroke of Dean's hand over his back, or at his neck, pulling at him. As Sam deepened the kiss, it grew more heated and started to spin out of control.

"Want you like this," Sam managed to breath, demonstrating by tongue fucking his love until they were both out of breath. Taking in a lungful of air, he started to move lower, over skimming over Dean's neck, kissing and licking, scraping his teeth over sensitive flesh and then soothing him. He worked his way down every inch of Dean's still warm and flushed skin, using his mouth and hands, worshiping Dean from the neck down.

When his mouth reached the edge of the sheet at Dean’s navel, Sam curled his fingers around it and eased it lower a little at a time, moving his head from one side to the other, kissing and sucking on newly revealed flesh. When he'd reached Dean's abs, he looked up, eyes full of heat. "I love you. Always," he said, before dipping his head down and finding his way to one of his favorite parts of his lover's body, the groove along his hip bone. His hands continued to roam, his palm occasionally brushing over Dean's erection straining so clearly against the sheet.

For Dean it was almost like it had been in the towers. Too much stimulation - he thought he would go mad from it. Everything Sam did fanned the flames of his desire. Heat raced through his veins and coiled low in his belly, his cock feeling so hard as to be stone, but more sensitive than anything he could imagine.

"Your kisses are magic, you are magic. You freed me from the towers, from a life of loneliness, from a life of the hardening illness with no relief. You've freed me from the dreams of the hazel eyes that I was sure I would never know, and the agony of the aching to travel West. You have given me the family I never knew, and brought me into a new family. You have given me a home filled with life and love and people. You are my prince, my love, my hero, my world. I am glad I have never given myself to any but you, for one touch from you makes all others pale, they’re but a touch of a butterfly versus a maelstrom of wonder and love and fire that burns through my being and essence. I am yours, always yours, only yours," Dean said, his words a bit stilted as Sam's touch drove him to distraction. He groaned a writhed under the skilled hands and mouth of his lover. "Take me and make me yours once again," he breathed, running his fingers through his love's hair.

As Dean spoke, Sam moved lower, mouthing Dean's cock and playing with him, pushing that old hardening disease along. He lapped along the base of his love’s cock, then bracing his own weight on his elbows, he gripped Dean's hips and lifted him. Lowering his head further, his tongue painted the sensitive area surrounding Dean’s hole until he speared his way inside, wetting him, opening him up in the gentlest and most pleasurable way he knew. Even deep in concentration, Dean's words got through to him, had him reacting on more than the familiar physical level. His spirit, his very soul was intertwined with this man's, this boy's. There had been the wall of distance between them, a prison made by Azazel himself, and yet they'd both strained and reached and reached until they'd found their other half.

Dean's plea sent a shudder of need through Sam. He lifted his head. "I never knew words could be magic, but you have taught me differently. I also didn't know speeches could be made in the heat of lust..." he shook his head and gave a sheepish grin. "Do not expect me to gain that skill. I do most of my talking outside of bed, but I will always listen to your words when I can, and to your voice... always."

"When the hardening was on me, I would recite things from my books to try to take my thoughts off of the pain of it. I've had," Dean felt his cheeks redden, "a good deal of practice at great oratorical speeches while in the throes of the hardening."

“Huh.” Turning his face towards Dean's hand in his hair, Sam kissed Dean’s his palm. "I want to take you and make you mine again and for always. I want to be inside you, Dean. Not my tongue. Me," he said, his voice shaking slightly as he lifted his head and searched the beautiful jade eyes locked with his.

Dean's brow creased in question at Sam's request. "A child can be inside a mother, but how can you possibly..." He shook his head. "I do not understand what you ask...but if we can be more joined, more one, than we have been before, then the answer is yes. Of course the answer is yes. What do I need to do?"

Desperate as he was, Sam had to smile. He crawled up Dean's body, his heavy erection pressing into his love’s belly. Stroking Dean's face, he lowered his mouth over his ear and whispered. "My fingers and tongue and cock have been inside your mouth, have they not?"

"Yes, and mine in yours. I still don't--" Dean pulled back a little stared into his lover's face. "You wish to put your fingers and cock where your tongue has just been teasing?" He frowned a little, then seeing the hope and desire in Sam's face, cupped his cheek with his hand. "If that would please you then I am willing to try." Feeling Sam's large cock pressed against his stomach, he couldn't fathom how it could readily fit, nor that it would be enjoyable, but Sam seemed confident and he trusted Sam with his heart, body, and soul.

"It will please us both," Sam promised huskily, lowering his mouth over Dean's and kissing him hard.

When he crawled back between Dean's legs, he shoved a pillow under him. "Relax, like you're in the tub with the hot water easing your tension. Trust me."

"I do," Dean said, though admittedly, he felt a bit nervous.

Sam licked his way back inside Dean and took his time, using his tongue and later his fingers to loosen him up. Gently curling his finger inside Dean, he brushed his love's sweet spot.

Dean couldn't deny he enjoyed the tonguing. But even though Sam's finger was oiled, it was still a bit uncomfortable and he had a difficult time relaxing, despite Sam's soothing and encouraging murmurs. But suddenly, he felt something unlike anything he had ever quite felt before, except maybe during the times Sam had brought him to orgasm.

"Sweet Mother's milk!" Dean cried, clenching and feeling his cock surge, a small spurt of cum leaving its tip. He moaned and arched. "Again, Sam, again," he begged.

Giving a satisfied smile when he felt Dean clench tight around him, thoughts of being inside Dean, being squeezed like that had Sam quickly losing the smile and making him more anxious to get there. He did manage to grin at Dean’s innocent exclamations and desperate pleas.

"Anything you want... anything," Sam promised, moving his finger in and out even as he dipped his head and licked Dean's hard cock clean of the pre-cum. Again and again, he touched Dean in ways that had his love sometimes lifting up off the pillow and mattress. Each time he inserted another finger, Sam dipped his head down and sucked on Dean's cock, giving him more than one sensation to worry about so he wouldn't tense up. When he felt his love spasm around the three fingers he'd worked inside, Sam knew it was time.

Pulling out, he searched the bed for the vial of oil and poured some in his palm. On his knees, he lubricated his own cock, stroking himself as he focused on Dean, his gaze traveling hotly down the length of his body and back. His gut clenched with need as thoughts of being one with Dean, of being inside him, moving with him, teased and tortured him. Realizing it would be difficult to be gentle, that it would take every shred of control that he had, he decided on a position that would make it hard for him to penetrate too deeply and would allow him to touch and make love to Dean the way he should be loved his first time joining in this way.

Moving to one side of Dean's body, Sam lay down on his side, kissed Dean and then helped him roll onto his side as well, with his back to Sam. Aligning his cock, he groaned as he ground gently against Dean's ass, teasing himself and his love.

He had his arms around Dean, his palm cupping Dean's cheek to help bring his face closer for Sam to kiss, his other hand wandering up and down Dean's chest and abs, his side and hip, touching him everywhere and teasingly just barely brushing over his cock. "Want you so bad," he whispered. "Need you," kissing him again, this time thrusting his tongue deep inside Dean's mouth and moving against him with increasing pressure and speed.

"Where... show me where you want my hand," Sam whispered, knowing the answer damned well but wanting to give Dean other things to think about. "Here?" he rubbed his nipple, a shock running up his own hand as he felt it tighten and rub against his palm.

"I want...I want to see your face," Dean said taking Sam's hand and bringing it to his lips. "We can do it that way, can't we? I want to see everything, your eyes, your lips, your expression. Please?" Dean asked. Maybe he was being jealous, but Sam had been with so many others. He wanted Sam to be looking into his face as well, seeing it was him and not some other shadow lover.

Sam bit his lip, hard, trying to ground himself, to protect Dean. Letting out a slow, hot breath, he spoke. "I... yes, I thought to get you used to me first. I can be gentler like this. And when you're ready, I can move again." Lifting himself up, he leaned over Dean more so they could see each other's faces. "However you want," he added.

"Gentle be damned... I want to see you. This first time we should be looking into each other's eyes. Can't you feel it in your soul?" He touched his lips to Sam's. "I know you will be as gentle as you can. The books I've read, they all say the first time is uncomfortable for a woman. I would guess the same is true for a man. I've been bitten, clawed, raked, and run through by creatures of evil. I think I can handle a little roughness and pain from my split-apart, from the one I love."

"Maybe it's not you I'm worried about. Maybe it's me, whether I could handle it if I hurt you. Then again, I've been knocked out and chained by you. You can handle me." Sam gave a strained smile. "Treat me like a beast, if I am one."

Swallowing hard, Sam pulled away, cursing as his body rebelled against the brief separation.

"You could never be one," Dean said, nothing but trust and love in his eyes for Sam.

Moving once more between Dean's legs, Sam sat on his knees and ran both his hands up and down Dean's body, from his thighs up to his chest and back. "You take my breath away," he whispered, gripping Dean's hips and pulling him down a little, his knees slipped under and now supported Dean's thighs. He grasped Dean's cock with one hand, and his own with the other, stroking a few times before leaning down and slotting the tip of his achingly hard cock with Dean's opening. Still stroking Dean, he started to work his crown inside his lover, biting his lip as his crown disappeared inside Dean. "By all that's holy," Sam rasped, fighting the surging need to be more aggressive, to push his swollen cock past the tight ring of muscle, to take what was his, to claim his love. A fever swept over him. He gripped Dean's thigh, squeezing it as he tried to maintain control and pulsed a little harder, inching inside, his stomach tightening with anticipation.

Trying to relax, Dean focused his attention on Sam, the feel of Sam's hand on his cock, and the tightening hold on his leg. He remembered how Sam's fingers had felt rubbing inside him and the anticipation of it being Sam's cock made the pain easier to bear. Even so, a soft grunt of pain whispered through his lips. He felt Sam freeze and look at him with concern.

"I'm fine," he reassured Sam, "just never felt...anything quite...like it." He nodded. "Keep going." The hesitation in Sam was obvious and Dean pushed a little, forcing Sam's cock a little deeper. "Take me, Sam. Take me now."

A cross between an oath an groan fell from Sam's lips, something unintelligible as Dean's words slammed into him full force and almost had him acting on order. "Don't. Help me," he said through gritted teeth, grimacing at Dean. He pushed in a little more, and then was past the tight ring of muscle and eased all the way forward until he was fully buried inside Dean. His blood pounded at his temples, sweat dripping from his forehead as he fought the relentlessness need to pull out and slam into Dean again, to fuck him like this wasn't his first time. "Unh... so tight... God... so good around me," he groaned as Dean clenched tighter around his cock.

Dean arched as Sam pressed in, giving a soft cry at the fullness, the stretching burn caused by the invasion of his lover's cock. His own body broke out in a sweat as it tried to adjust. "Sonuvabitch," Dean breathed, panting. He reached for Sam and pulled him down into a kiss meant to distract them both. Wrapping his legs around Sam he pulled Sam in a little deeper, giving a soft moan into his mouth. He kept his legs locked, holding Sam there until the burn eased, until he grew comfortable, more or less, with Sam inside him. He finally broke off the kiss and stared into Sam's eyes, smiling as he loosened his leg lock. "Okay, lover, show me. I'm ready now."

"You sure?" Sam panted, half-jokingly adding, "I can imagine Bobby and wait a little more..."

Dean clenched Sam's cock tightly then eased, pleased with the groan he got. "You're just wanting me to do all the work."

Sam gave a strangled, "No." Every argument he had seemed to fly out of his mind and he shook his head. "Not debating in bed." He waited for another heartbeat, giving a heartfelt, "yeah," at the feel of Dean clenching again around him. Pushing slightly up on his arms so he could watch Dean's face, Sam started to gently rock back and forth, biting his lip when Dean got the idea and used his legs to encourage him. The mischief in Dean's eyes, the adoration, the impatience... it had Sam giving up. "Alright, alright," he whispered, leaning in and giving Dean one last hard kiss.

Then he pulled slightly out and started to thrust, moving slowly in and out of his love, then moving a little faster, letting Dean show him what he liked. He concentrated on angling his hips so he could pleasure Dean with every thrust, sometimes short and hard, sometimes long and drawn out strokes, always watching, learning what pleased Dean the most.

Everything Sam did was new and fresh. Sometimes Dean nearly came up off the bed when Sam hit his insides just right. He experimented clenching, and pulling Sam in deeper and learning to counter against Sam's thrusts. When he wasn't writhing or gasping, he was all but entranced at the looks of pleasure on Sam's face. "Told you...face-to-face...ungh...best," Dean managed to get out.

It was perfect, all so damned perfect. Making love to Sam in this way satisfied something deep in Dean’s soul, something he had been searching for all the other times he and Sam had made love. This was right. This was what it felt like to be...complete. "Love you," Dean whispered and then began to move faster.

"Same," Sam answered, still concentrating. Trying to go slow, trying to hold on onto his senses. His arms trembled slightly as he tried to hold himself up, to not push too hard. Yet Dean was making it increasingly impossible. Sam moaned out a plea, "S... slow, need to go slow. Don't."

The way Dean clenched suddenly around his cock, his gaze reflecting a full on rebellion as his legs tightened around Sam's waist, stole away Sam's resolve. His eyes darkened with lust and all traces of playfulness were gone from his features. "Alright," he said again, this time meaning it. Sliding one hand under Dean's ass and raising him, Sam drew back and started to piston into him, faster, harder, relentlessly moving in and out of his love. "This what you wanted?" he demanded a little harshly, before he cupped Dean's head, and lowered his mouth, taking it with the same fierceness.

Sam’s mind grew fuzzy. He was drunk. Drunk on his split apart. The way he tasted. The way he responded. How he demanded even as he accepted Sam's unrestrained passion.

A short time ago this might have been overwhelming and even frightening for Dean, but he trusted Sam, loved him, and that long empty spot inside him was filled with everything Sam. His scent, the touch of his harsh and panting breaths across Dean's sweat drenched skin, flesh moving against flesh, Sam moving inside of him in a way Dean never fathomed could happen.

Moans and grunts left Sam. His world, his focus narrowed to Dean. His soul reached to him. His body claimed that which had been denied to him for too long. His heart pounded faster and harder. He was almost unaware of where he was or who he was, only that this was meant to be. Had always been meant to be, and could not be stopped. "Mine. Ever. More," he grunted between thrusts that now had him seeing white behind his eyelids.

"Yes," Dean whispered as Sam pounded harder and faster into him. They had found their rhythm and it was perfect. Dean rocked back harder and harder against his lover, feeling his insides winding up tighter and tighter. He was moaning louder and louder until his tightening balls simply couldn't tighten any more and warmth spread between their bodies as Dean came, spilling his seed between them.

Dean's release sent Sam over the edge. Three hard thrusts into Dean's now almost painfully tight ass had Sam coming violently hard, shouting Dean's name and lifting him up off the mattress as he drove into him one final time. An oath slipped from between his lips as he collapsed on top of Dean. He took a couple of deep breaths. "Sorry I... it's... not an insult." The last thing he wanted was for Dean to produce that damned skillet that he had yet to part with.

Raising his head, he looked into Dean's face and searched it. Seeing only love and satisfaction reflected back, he kissed him, tasting the salt of their combined sweat on his tongue. "From the moment I heard you singing, when I was climbing up the tower, I knew... I knew my life would never be the same. It would be better. Perfect. And it shall be, once you learn how to bathe and dress me," he said, lips quirking into a smile. "I'll have Bobby assign someone to instruct you. I know how much you love lessons."

Dean's laughter was almost a bark. "Then, Prince Samuel, I fear you shall never attain a perfect life. If I were to bathe you, the hardening illness would strike us both. And I have no interest in dressing you. Only undressing you. From the moment you entered my towers you have turned my entire life upside down." Dean lifted his head and kissed Sam. "But I regret none of it. I have never known such happiness. I am still confused and befuddled by much of this world, but I look forward to the adventure of discovering it, with you at my side. Always at my side."

"And sometimes behind you, or inside you, or over you, or under..." Sam started to list the ways they'd be together, glad that he'd found someone who would laugh with him and who would get used to his jokes. "I'll wager a thousand pence--what? Crowds like nothing better than to have pennies thrown for the children. A thousand pence that by our first anniversary, you will have bathed and dressed me. And undressed and dirtied me..."

Dean laughed at his numerous suggestions. "You are conniving and sneaky, so I am smart enough not to take that bet. If nothing else you would play sick, or you would consider me pulling a shirt over your head dressing you. But we can throw pennies for the children on our anniversary anyhow." He ran a hand over Sam's sweat dampened locks. "Is your kingdom rich enough that we might give a gift to each household for our wedding? A silver, or a few coppers, or something? It seems wrong for us to have such wonders of dress and drink and food, and the people not be able to share in our joy, for anyone to go hungry tomorrow, or have nothing when we have so much. I have been wanting for so long, I want everyone to share a small moment of the happiness I feel, that you have given me and I know of no better way."

"I am neither sneaky, nor conniving!" His half-hearted protests fooled no one but Sam had to shake his head at Dean. "You have it backwards, you receive presents for your wedding. Just wait, some of them should be quite bizarre." Being on the receiving end of a look that rivaled one of Bobby's 'what will we do with you,' Sam rolled his eyes.

"But you are my present and all I could ever want." Dean rolled his own eyes.

"Well... for New Years, it's appropriate to give presents. Perhaps quills stamped with our names? Hmm? What, people would treasure such trinkets." Sam had to admit he liked riling up his split apart, though in fact, he saw nothing wrong with his plan. "Our visage could be stamped in metal on it, miniatures drawn by the best artistic wizards. I'd best go rouse up Bobby and tell him to make the arrangements," he said, starting to lift up off Dean.

"And for the money it would cost to make such things, we could give them the coin instead." Dean locked his legs around Sam, and slid his arms around Sam's waist. "You are going nowhere. If we are starting new traditions of making love to each other on our wedding night, then we are going to spend all night doing so, scoundrel. And we are going to give money to all the households in the kingdom. Or food. Or something useful. Those are my first two decrees as prince. And my third? Kiss me breathless," Dean said, putting all the sound of authority into it that he could.

"Yes, your Highness," Sam answered without hesitation, swooping down and bringing his mouth over Dean's, kissing him slowly as his hands roved over his love, until they caught fire again and started to rock against each other, leaving the world behind.

* * *

Dean opened his eyes and yawned. He smiled at his lover who was sprawled across him, his head resting on Dean's chest. Sam had insisted on cleaning them up before he left to return to his room, and they had managed to get to the cleaning, but Sam hadn't quite managed to make it out and back to his own room. They’d both fallen into exhausted slumber.

"I am so lucky to have you," Dean whispered to Sam's sleeping form, playing gently with his hair. "I am so lucky you found me. I could well have spent all my days in that cursed place, dreaming only of hazel eyes and taking cold baths. I would never have touched the ground, or ridden a horse, or danced, or found my family. You've given me everything. I hope I measure up and can give you something approaching the wonderment that you have given me."

He laid there, merely staring at Sam for several minutes, studying his face, the curve of his cheek, the curl of his eyelashes, the slight red of his lips. He would never get enough of looking at Sam, he was certain of that.

He glanced toward the door when he heard noises outside the doors. He shook Sam awake. "Someone is coming!" he hissed at Sam. "You need to hide!"

"Go away Bobby-" Sam started, until Dean's words cut through the haze in his mind. Having had ample practice hiding from jealous men or guards sent to find him, he quickly and easily rolled off the bed and then under it, just in time to see the door open with hardly any time passing after the knock. He was cursing the servant until the man walked closer and he could see by the fine shiny boots he was wearing that it was no servant. A guest then?

"Dean, my boy, I trust you slept well," King William said stepping closer and waiting for his son to pull the sheets up. "I suppose there was no reason for... hrmph... bed clothes in that blasted tower." He purposely looked away for another long moment, although he ordinarily watched his son whenever the boy came into any room. It was still difficult to believe he had him back and he was almost afraid to allow the boy out of his sight.

"It only made for more things to wash during the heat of summer, Father," Dean said, finding it strange to call anyone father, but the king had insisted and he was trying to learn. "Though on chilly nights, I would wear clothes..." Dean realized that like Sir Caleb had always told him, it was inappropriate to be naked in front of others.

Dean pulled the sheet and the blanket up. "I am covered, Father. I'm sorry, I've still much to learn. Many things Sir Caleb told me were right, or right, but twisted up, and some things he told me were lies. I've only my books and my brief experience outside of the towers to try to untangle the right from wrong, the correct from incorrect. If you would like, I could get dressed. It feels very odd to have someone of higher rank than me in the room while I’m still abed, but nakedness is wrong and," Dean gave a huff and decided to try to shut up while he was ahead. "I'm still sorting it out. I did sleep well, thank you." After a moment's hesitation, he asked, "Did you sleep well, Father?"

"Oh yes." William shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then took that one last step and sat on the edge of the bed. "I came for the ah... the traditional father/son talk, to give you marriage advice and ... hrmph... other advice." He ran a hand through his hair.

"You have been isolated for so long and are naive in such matters. I wish you'd agreed to put the wedding off until you learned your way about a bit more, but... no matter." Leaning toward his son, he patted Dean's sheet-covered shoulder. "The ah, key to a happy marriage is to keep your spouse happy, but there are limits to that. Never make so many sacrifices that you feel subordinate."

King William sighed. "What I'm trying to say is, while Prince Samuel is a fine young man, he... well... He's a lot more experienced than you are and he's got quite the reputation." He rolled his eyes up toward the high ceilings, "womanizer, mancorrupter, cad--" Hearing a sound, he asked, "What was that?" and started to bend over.

Sam rubbed the back of his head which he'd hit as those untruths came out of King William's mouth. Well, if not untruths, then exaggerations.

"The bed I think needs some new slats. It makes such sounds sometimes," Dean said quickly, praying Sam's ego did not get the best of him. "I know he has a great deal of experience with sex. It was a point of contention between us as we rode here. That he was experienced and I was not and how could I be certain he was my split-apart. Especially the first time I saw a woman at the tavern. It seemed unfair that he had sampled such variety and I could not. He was very generous and understanding. He gave me gold and was unhappy, but let me go my own way for a time with one of the barmaids."

Giving a grave nod cost King William much. He wasn't one for wanting too many details, he only wished to do his duty and then get on with the merry-making. "Yes, yes, that's all good and well. What I'm trying to say is do not allow him to treat you like a trollop, his bit-o-muslin or leather." He frowned. "King John's servants must not be very observant. This bed needs to be repaired or replaced."

"Oh, the bed is still quite comfortable," he assured his father. "What's a trollop?" Dean asked. "And why would he treat me like a piece of cloth or animal skin?"

"Why... why... erm... Because of the sort of company he keeps. Disappearing often, spending time at taverns. He is used to the sort of people who," he cleared his throat. "let's just say that he might not realize how unskilled you are in the art of love, and might not appreciate it. He might push you to do things you might not be comfortable doing. Naked things," he waved his hands as if that explained it. "Which is not a bad thing in and of itself but..." He felt a hot flush stealing over his face. "Anyway, you need to be prepared. To know what to expect and to know that you are free to draw the line and stop him if you get uncomfortable."

He eyed his son and was unsure whether he was comprehending. "There will be kissing. Not like on the dance floor, I mean naked kissing. He will want to touch you everywhere. In places you have never been touched, and in ways you perhaps have not dreamed." Blast it all, he didn't know how to explain this. "The kissing... it will be from above the neck, and there will be more kissing, of a different sort, from ... hrmph... below the belt." Once again, he motioned with his hand, then noticing he was waving over his lap, quickly dropped his hand.

Dean stared at his father unsure what to say. It was obvious the King thought Dean and Sam had not shared anything yet. Dean reached for the pack near his bed. "If he gets out of hand, I have this." He pulled out the skillet and held it up. "Cold water also keeps him in line if he gets the hardening illness and needs to be cooled down a bit." He grinned at his father. Knowing Sam was listening to every word, he couldn't resist adding. "So do you think I should have someone show me these below the belt kisses? And the way Sam will touch me?"

"Ah... hrmph..." King William got up. "I survived my wedding night, and so shall you." It was all he was going to say on the subject. "Food and drink, yes, that can take his mind off the ... what did you call it, hardening?" He gave his boy a smile. "Glad to have cleared everything up for you, but if you have any questions, I can ask King John to send that fine fellow of his, Bobby. The man must have the patience of a saint, dealing with--" He looked at the defective bed again, shook his head, and made his escape.

A full moment later, Sam rolled out from under the bed, gave Dean a glare and started to collect his clothing. "I will see you at your wedding. If your father hasn't managed to change your mind," he said stiffly.

Dean quickly rose out of the bed and wrapped his arms around Sam's waist, pressing his groin into Sam's ass. "All that bumping of your head must have knocked something loose if you think I want anyone but you. Stop being an ass. Besides, my father said my job is to keep you happy." Dean reached down and ran his hand over Sam's flaccid cock. "We could always try some of this 'below the belt kissing' he was talking about. We're already naked, so we could do some naked kissing, too."

Sam's eyes closed for a moment. His argument died on his lips when Dean's fingers closed around him. "Assuming you're not set on having someone else to show you," he huffed. Deep down, he knew Dean had been joking, but he'd had to watch Dean walk off with a wench and was more than aware of how Dean felt about the differences in their experience. At times, he wondered if Dean would one day regret the rush to wed, and would wonder what it might be like with others.

Dean let go of Sam's cock and turned him to face him. "Let me clear something up for you." He leaned in and practically welded his mouth over his lover's. His tongue slipped between Sam's lips and immediately began tangling with Sam’s then exploring Sam's mouth as if it were the first time. He pulled Sam closer to him as he sucked on Sam's tongue and did absolutely everything he could to leave the man seeing stars.

When he finally let Sam draw in a breath, he met Sam's eyes. "No one touches this body but you. No one touches your body but me. I want no other. Only the other half of me that I have so long been denied. I love you, I want you, and I will marry you this very day if I have to take out my skillet and crack it across that thick skull of yours and drag you to the altar unconscious and then dump cold water on you to awaken you. Don't make me use my skillet," Dean threatened.

Lips burning, body aching, heart yearning, Sam could only stare as Dean made his threats and proclamations, chasing away every niggling fear hiding in the shadows of Sam’s mind. "First you daze me with that kiss, then the damned skillet. You have won me," Sam said, wrapping his own arms tightly around Dean's body and lifting him slightly. "I don't think I'm the sneaky one here," he said, whirling Dean around and then walking him to the bed, pushing him down and landing over him. "I won't let you go, Dean, not ever," he vowed, lowering his mouth over his love’s, and rolling over onto his back. "Mmm," he murmured against Dean's lips as he explored his body at his leisure, pretending that a bevy of servants weren't about to show up to wash and perfume and primp Dean for the wedding.

* * *

The wedding was beyond grandiose, a fairytale wedding of epic proportions. Although Dean chafed at the finery they made him wear, the servants were determined to make him the most handsome and dashing they possibly could, having made a bet with Sam's servants over which of the two would be the most resplendent.

Sam, the native son, was brought down the aisle first, then Dean was escorted by his sister. As soon as he laid eyes on Sam he froze, his breath stolen. He recalled the young ruffian who had invaded his home and had he not known better, would have thought this was not the same man. His sister had to nudge him, and finally he moved again, his gaze riveted to the dark-haired prince with the golden crown, white silken shirt with ruffles edged in dark green, and a black coat and pants, likewise edged in dark green. He wore a cape, black on the exterior, white on the inside, with dark green embroidery and his family crest of Wynn over his breast.

Dean's clothing was the opposite in that his shirt was dark green and edged in white, his coat and pants likewise edged in white. A golden crown was upon his own head, his own cape black but lined with green, white embroidery edging it and the family crest of Chester was over his breast. Both carried swords, one twin to the other, inset with diamonds and emeralds.

When Dean reached Sam's side, he stared at his love, his eyes locking with Sam’s for the duration of the ceremony. At one point Dean did look away to glance at the man marrying them and hissed, "I would like to be married before I am too old to celebrate. Cut to it and marry us already."

"And they call me the rogue in this relationship," Sam whispered for Dean's ears only. He hadn't believed his split-apart's good looks could be more striking than he'd thought, but he was proven wrong. The green in his wedding clothes brought out those eyes Sam had dreamed of forever, eyes that had been a symbol for the person he loved even before he'd met Dean. They were facing each other and as the long ceremony continued, the hints of impatience in Dean's eyes and body language had Sam's shoulders shaking slightly. As royalty, Dean would soon have to learn how to keep still for hours at a time. Sam's way of rebelling was disappearing and making himself scarce, which he couldn't do at his own wedding. In the alternative, he often found ways to entertain himself during state appearances.

Now that, he could very well do. A sly, barely there smile crossed his features as his eyes traveled deliberately down and up his split-apart's body. Then he started to mentally undress Dean, one item of clothing at a time, licking his lips and sometimes meeting Dean's eyes. He was being very obvious about it and there was no way his love would mistake what he was doing.

Dean groaned softly as Sam started teasing him with just his looks. Anyone close enough would be sure to see exactly what was going on. He gave Sam a warning glare that only seemed to bring mirth into his split-apart's eyes. The priest seemed oblivious and kept going on and on about all sorts of nonsense as far as Dean was concerned. He reached out and took Sam's hands then looked at the priest.

"I'm gonna kiss Sam here in one minute and we're done," Dean interrupted the man. "We're walking down that red carpet, married or not. Everyone knows the story of split-aparts. Everyone knows I was locked away in the towers by Azazel, stolen from my family. Everyone knows Sam rescued me. And if they don't, they've been oblivious to all the shouted news and the tavern tales. I don't know all the history of the Wynn family, but I'll read about it, and the same with my own lineage. I don't need to be told to love Sam, or how to love him. He's my god-damned split-apart, my other half. He fills that emptiness that's inside me; he's haunted my dreams all my life. If we have problems, we'll come see you, all right?" Dean's nostrils flared. "Marry us. Now."

"But-but-but, that's not the way that it is done, Prince Dean. There are traditions, things that must be said," the priest stuttered.

"So we're starting a new tradition." Dean glanced at the crowd. "Don't all of you want to get this done so we can get to the food and drink?" He saw a few men grin, a few women gasp, some were stunned silent and others were softly laughing. He looked to Sam's parents who seemed mildly put out, and his own parents who both had smirks pulling at their lips. He looked back at the priest. "I got a feeling we're gonna be starting a lot of new traditions." He leveled his glare on the priest a final time and grit out, "Kill the history lessons, kill the advice, kill the story telling. So flip ahead in that book of yours to the marriage vows. You've got one minute."

Barely able to contain his laughter, Sam gripped both of Dean's hands. "Father Murphy, I think I can keep him here for three minutes. Starting now," he said, glancing at the priest, and giving him a look.

As the priest got down to the words that would bind them as a married couple, Sam ran the pad of his thumb back and forth across Dean's palms, both calming him and maybe doing things that weren't so calming. In any event, he managed to keep Dean engaged in the moment long enough that he barely noticed when it was time to give his response.

Sam squeezed Dean's hand, and then got the 'yes' he'd been waiting for as Dean slipped a ring onto Sam's finger. Then Sam gave his own heartfelt 'yes' as he put his ring onto his split-apart's finger. "Yes, I will love Dean with my last breath. Yes, I'll cherish him above all others. Yes, I'll make sure our marital bed is wild--"

Turning bright red, the priest quickly pronounced them married before more uncalled for words outside the ceremonial rites were uttered.

Finally allowing himself to laugh out loud, with the crowd who'd heard every word, Sam pulled Dean into his arms and slanted his mouth over his love's. Before leaving his quarters, Sam had been reminded by no less than three people, that the kiss was symbolic only and that he wasn't to take it too far.

Sliding his mouth back and forth over Dean's, Sm pushed his tongue inside and thoroughly explored every corner. His blood was already hot from the mental undressing, and now that he was tasting Dean, molding his body against his own, going slow, or easy, or giving him only a peck on the lips was the furthest thing from Sam's mind.

Dean hungrily accepted the kiss he'd been craving ever since he had laid eyes on his lover standing at the altar. Wrapping his arms around Sam, he caressed Sam's back, his hands sliding lower. He felt the priest's hand on his shoulder.

"That is sufficient to bind your vows. Consummation of your vows should not be a public event," Father Murphy pleaded.

Dean reluctantly broke off the kiss, despite Sam’s groaning complaint. "C'mon, let's get on to the party and the living happily ever after thing." He turned to Sam's parents and bowed as Bobby had shown him, then did the same to his own parents, then to the crowd. Sam of course, followed suit.

The crowd let out with a deafening cheer and Dean couldn't help but wonder if it was because he and Sam were married, or because the marriage ceremony that was supposed to go on, and on, and on, was actually over. Yeah, he was definitely going to put a stop to unnecessary, long-winded speeches when possible. He'd have been happy with a 'two split-aparts found each other, are you going to love and treasure each other? Then you're married' five minute speech. Of course, he also would have been happy just being in his regular clothes instead of the fancy finery, though Sam looked amazing in his, and the look Sam gave him suggested Sam thought the same of Dean.

They walked down the aisle, flower petals and confetti tossed at them. Then it was on to the gardens for the presents and food and ale. Frankly, Dean would be glad when the whole hub-bub was over and Sam and he could escape to their bedroom to finish the fire Sam had started with his looks and touches and kiss.

Over the next few hours, there wasn't a soul who could deny the wedding was beautiful and that no couple could be more in love that the Princes Dean and Sam. Both men danced with each other, their own family members, and members of their new families. They drank and jested with the guests, and every once in awhile, an aid would appear at one or both elbows, advising them of protocol and who else they needed to dance with or speak to before the night was out. Each time they were forced to separate, Sam saw that impatient look enter his love's eyes. The next time Dean finished a turn around the ballroom with the Queen of Haueser, who was pushing 90 but not only had a spry step, but was highly critical of her partner who was not practiced in the art of dance, Sam came and rescued him.

Pulling him into his arms, he started to dance them toward one of the exits out of the garden. "I have a present for you. A stallion-sized present, Sam whispered hotly against Dean's ear before they made a run for it.

*

It was time for the Royal family to take to the balcony and wave to the crowds who'd been waiting for their appearance, as well as for the fireworks. There was only one problem. Neither Prince Dean nor Prince Samuel could be found. Announcements were made, trumpets were blown to signal the importance of the announcements and calls for the princes.

Dancers parted. Servants moved among them, looking for the missing couple. Dean's parents appeared worried, though their daughter kept a smirk firmly in place.

Then Bobby came to see what the fuss was about. Throwing his hands up in the air, he stomped out of the garden and made his way straight to the stables. He wasn't born yesterday. The first Prince of Wynn was having a roll in the hay with the second Prince of Wynn, or he was a two-headed billy goat with oats for brains.

"Your Highnesses? Samuel! Dean!" Bobby called as he stormed through the stables, following the trail of clothing, picking them up as he went with a sigh. Hearing the laughter of the two young men and paused a moment to give a smile. They were surely going to make his life difficult, but seeing how happy they were, he didn't think he was ever going to really mind.

"Would you two royal idgets get back into your clothes and finish your duties as the crown princes for the night?" Bobby demanded sternly, tossing the clothing into the stall where he'd heard the laughter coming from, putting his back to the door, and glowering at the passing stablehand. He bit back his own laughter as he heard Prince Dean telling the complaining Prince Samuel that Sam was old enough to dress himself. Yes, there would certainly be interesting days ahead.

THE END


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